Gauntlet: Crucible
by Cap'n Chryssalid
Summary: (Completed) The Rowdyruffs returned, the Powerpuffs defeated, and Townsville in the mad grip of Mojo Jojo? And yet nothing is what anyone expected. The End of the World begins!
1. Default Chapter

Like a good communist, I own nothing.

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"Gauntlet: Crucible"  
Part 1

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May 3

Dinner is the time of day when families get together in their homes; fathers come back from work, children from school and play, older kids from part time jobs. I know this, because I've seen it on TV, and because, sometimes, when I look down at the city and into those homes, I see happy families talking and laughing over hot home cooked meals. I see some families having heated arguments. I see many families watching TV together, as the adults stay up together to watch late night programming while the children go to bed. I tell myself that I am not envious, even of the families that argue, because they are beneath me. I go to what passes as my home, in time for what we would call dinner. But I hate, above all else, the silence.

My name is Boomer

Mojo Jojo was not in one of his better moods. He was growing impatient, this much was obvious to everyone - Mojo was nothing if not subtle. Around the dinner table, the four members of the family, the team, ate quietly. Boomer watched their expressions while he poked away at the Pork Lo Mein, not feeling particularly hungry. Mojo, their creator, and to an extent their father, was of primary interest to the blonde boy.

Mojo sat, of course, at the head of the table. He ate with silver hashi 'chopsticks.' Boomer found eating Chinese food with Japanese instruments almost amusing. Almost. Mojo was not much for amenities or distractions. The rest of the family used disposable plastic utensils, but their creator had his own set of silverware hidden somewhere, (Boomer suspected where while the others didn't care) and he had brought out his silver hashi for tonight.

Boomer looked down at the Pepsi can, almost empty, and finished it off. His hunger wasn't present tonight, but his mouth was dry, and the carbonated drink wasn't helping the situation a whole lot. Without a word, he got up and went for the fridge. His movement caught Mojo's eye for only a second, but Boomer's actions rarely concerned Mojo. He, like Butch, were still his 'good evil sons.' Just maybe (Boomer occasionally indulged himself by thinking) Mojo loved them. But if he did, why had he abandoned them? Boomer had so many questions he wanted to ask their creator, and no will or opportunity to actually voice them.

Pouring a glass of water instead of another cola, Boomer headed back to the table and his quiet observations. Butch was about to finish. Boomer's raven-haired sibling was shoveling food into his mouth with spoon and fork, hardly seeming to chew, and only pausing to wash things down with a long swig of the two-liter Pepsi bottle by his side. Butch liked his food spicy and easy to eat, and Kung Po beef fit the bill as good as anything. Not surprisingly, Butch hardly tasted his food, and gulped down vegetables and meat in equal measure without complaint.

Brick sat at the end of the table, opposite Mojo. His hat still on, though somewhat higher on his head, letting his head breathe more easily than normal. He stood upright, as opposed to slightly hunched like Butch, and ate slowly. Brick savored his meals, and dipped each dumpling as if it was his last, eating each one in two exact bites. He finished them all, put the empty tin dish from the take out place aside, then went to his Moo Shu Shrimp with similar practiced, almost mathematical, dissection. He folded each pancake the same, and seemed to enjoy organizing and orchestrating the design and consumption of each one.

He never smiled, however.

Brick was undoubtedly their leader, and Boomer figured that was likely the problem. There could only be one leader, and Brick was obviously unhappy taking orders from anyone, even their creator, even though returning to the Mojo had been by his design. Brick's accomplishments, his power, and his cold intensity clashed with Mojo's envy, his intellect, and his hot head. Brick kept silent, however, biding his time. Boomer knew this all too well, and Mojo suspected it. Their falling out, however, had not merely been a product of their different minds, but of their plans. Brick had done what Mojo had not, what Mojo had failed at so repeatedly, and there had been a fundamental rift between them over what next to do.

Boomer understood this, but he did not like it.

He respect both of them, even Mojo, for Mojo had given them life. They owed him for that, if nothing else. Mojo had taught them, when no one else would, taken them in when they needed a place to stay, and train, and keep warm. Indeed, sometimes, they even had fun, when Mojo managed to pry himself away from his plans and inventions. Mojo and Brick had a running game of Axis and Allies going (Brick ended up being Allies), sometimes he and Butch would play football, and he would tolerate Boomer watching him work and wanting to talk, to a point anyway.

He was proud of them, definitely.

He also needed them, Brick had said so often enough, and Boomer knew it to be true.

Perhaps, also, Mojo feared them.

"I'm done!" Butch wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and messily threw away what was left of his food into the brown paper bag it had all come in. He stood up and walked off, rubbing his stomach. "I'll be in the TV room practicin.'"

"I'd like to talk to you later," Brick spoke up at his retreating brother. "You know about what."

"Right, right." Butch waved him off. Butch spent most of his time training and relaxing, either in the Battle Room with a bunch of special weights Mojo had made for him, or in front of the TV, watching one of the many 'Learn At Home' Martial Arts videos. Recently, he'd taken to Thai Kickboxing. Brick often joined him, and they'd stay up late watching illegal pay per view and old Las Vegas Boxing matches. Boomer preferred to get so sleep early or cruise by himself, and rarely joined in. He had no real interest in vying with either of his siblings in the contest to be the 'best fighter' or 'toughest bastard' or anything similar.

Boomer preferred to hit the town.

He'd recently taken to hitting more than the town, actually. One of Brick's standing 'policies' had been maintaining order in 'their' town. Mojo wanted to run things through fear and intimidation, but Brick preferred manipulation and control. If a crime occurred in Townville, they stopped it - not because it was the right thing to do, of course, but because it ensured continuing control over the people, and dependence on the protection and oversight of the Rowdyruff Boys. It was a theory of Brick's, and Boomer didn't have a problem with it. It gave him a chance to blow off steam.

Plus, they could take whatever they wanted from the city.

Go anywhere.

Do anything.

Brick was definitely the brains of the operation - the tactical and strategic brains, anyway. That was, no doubt, why Mojo felt threatened by him, and so proud of him, at the same time. Knowing better than to leave the two alone across the table, Boomer stayed until Mojo finished eating, and without a word, left. Brick relaxed only a fraction with Mojo's departure. The change would have been undetectable, save for Boomer's close understanding of his brother's moods and emotions.

Brick looked up at the homemade (probably atomic) clock bearing Mojo's grinning face next to the fridge. He blinked in surprise. "It's later than I thought."

"Should I go get Butch?"

Brick nodded, and quickly finished his Moo Shu. He was rushing himself, a very unusual action from the Rowdyruff Leader. Boomer was about to throw out his Sweet and Sour chicken when he thought again of it, and took it with him. As expected, Butch was watching one of his Thai Kickboxing tapes and trying to translate one of the joint locks for their... unique physiology. He groaned when he saw Boomer, sighed loudly, and paused the tape. Together, they headed downstairs, into the subbasement built into the Townsville Volcano.

They had guests to attend to.

Boomer paused at the bars.

As always, when he got close to them, Boomer felt a slight tingle on his skin, like Goosebumps. He narrowed his eyes a bit, and saw the faint glow to the bars of the energy shield built into them. It was an inescapable jail, guarded by inescapable jailers. But it was better than death - Boomer knew this firsthand, and at the thought of it, he felt a rage building up inside him that had been absent for several days.

"Hey!" He called, his voice angrier than he'd wanted it to be, thanks to the old memories.

Behind the bars, in the darkness, two light blue eyes opened, and blinked at him, adjusting to the darkness of the cell. They quickly took a panicked look. Boomer sighed inwardly, and quickly flicked on the lights, bathing the place in soft fluorescent glow. The eyes showed instant recognition, a flash of a different type of fear, and then something akin to acceptance and even happiness. Boomer snorted softly at that.

Deactivating the energy grid, and opening the door, he walked in without fear or hesitation - it was far easier now than it had been before. He watched their captive closely, checking her health and trying to gauge her 'progress,' as Brick would call it. Her hair was a mess, and she had obviously stopped caring, as it fell out of its normal style, and into a jumble of golden curls around the sides of her face and shoulders. Her blue dress, a lighter colored opposite of his own long sleeved shirt, was smudged and slightly ripped from their last fight, days ago.

"At least we didn't kill you," he thought bitterly.

Bubbles seemed to sense something to him, and backed up against the cot in the cell, afraid. Boomer chastised himself for losing control, for wanting to lash out. He wanted to hit something, pound someone, but he also wanted it to be someone who wasn't already demoralized and defenseless. He reminded himself that there were others who deserved it more. He needed to get out. He needed to think. He wasn't Brick - cold and uncaring. He wasn't Butch - angry and overeager. He was the middle ground. He HAD to be the middle ground to Brick's need for control and Butch's need for action.

"Here," Boomer said, less roughly, and held out the paper plate. It had originally just held a pile of white rice that had come free with the other food, but Boomer had thrown on the Sweet and Sour chicken that he hadn't felt like finishing.

She looked down at the food, and carefully took the plate from him, as if unsure whether it was a trick or not. Maybe she thought he'd throw the food on the floor, or at her, or something else terrible. Boomer was surprised that the thought of it hadn't come to him at all until now, when it had been under a list of things he 'wouldn't do,' instead of 'could do.' He ignored the notions. Butch might do something like that, especially a few days ago, but Boomer couldn't really find the cruelty in him to do any more than they had to, even as thoughts of death, of bodiless agony, tried to challenge that notion.

"T... Thank you," She stuttered a bit, and started ravenously eating with her hands. They were Brick's orders: no utensils. Boomer agreed with them, on common sense if nothing else. He put a small paper cup with cold water, and a single ice cube, down next to her, and watched as she ate.

He also remembered Brick's words.

Brick's plans.

Bubbles finished eating quickly - it was the only meal of the day for her and Powerpuff's had the same ultra-fast metabolisms that he and his brothers had. She looked up at him from where she sat, on the cot, and he handed over a few paper towels to let her wipe her hands.

"B... Boomer..."

"What?" He answered gruffly. He was anxious to leave, to fly through dark night skies: to let loose and lose control for a few precious hours.She looked down at her trembling hands, wrapped up but still wringing together, trying to get them clean.

"What?" He asked again, more softly this time.

"I... just... it's so dark in here when you leave..."

"What of it?" Boomer asked, knowing where this was going.

"The Pr'fessor... he used to leave the... the door open a bit, and..."

"No can do. You don't want me to get in trouble do you?"

"No!" She said, quickly. "No, I don't!"

"You want my brothers to be pissed off at me 'cause you're supposed to sit here. In the dark."

"I... just..."

"You what? You're afraid of the dark. I know." He knew his tone was cruel; he knew the old anger was rising. He had to get out before he did something he'd later regret. "You think the dark is bad... At least you're not dead! Do you have any idea what it was like for me? For Butch? For Brick? Do you even CARE?!"

"B...Boomer... I'm sorry... I just..."

"You just thought about yourself! You just forgot how I sat in the dark, messed up, alone, every moment in blinding pain, for months! ...Months!" His voice was approaching an angry roar, now. His fists were clenched, and as he loomed over her, his mind noted how she was shivering, afraid, tears in her eyes. She was alone, separated from her sisters, thrown into a dark cell, deprived of food and water and companionship. It was only a fraction of what he had endured, but would he, could he, inflict even a quarter of what he'd gone through on another living soul without regret?

"Damn it," He said, finally, took a deep breath and headed for the door. "I'm going out tonight. I'll ...think about picking you up a nightlight or a candle or something."

"Thank you," She said to his back, pleadingly.

He ignored her, closed the bars, and reactivated the energy grid.

* * *

Boomer exhaled deeply, eyes closed, as he flew slowly through the night air. Townsville was far below, an expanse of brightly lit streets, dark alleys, and multicolored venues. Boomer loved flying, slowly, without a care in the world. He was like an eagle, now, here. He was so free, so uninhibited...

It had been about four days since they'd defeated the Powerpuff Girls. Many had fled, expecting the worst, and then returned, when the worst hadn't manifested itself. It had tried, of course, but Brick had quickly put an end to it. Unlike the Powerpuff Girls, he had given his brothers a blank check to do what they wanted with those who broke the law, except themselves of course. They rarely moved out together, and each Rowdyruff interpreted what was 'appropriate' differently.

Brick himself rarely did much crime fighting, despite it being his imperative that they do so. When they all went out together, Brick seemed to most enjoy sitting on top of the Townsville Metrowest Building's radio tower and thinking to himself. Butch took to it with aplomb, hunting through the streets in the worst parts of the city, looking for violent criminals. Why Butch preferred dealing with those sorts, Boomer wasn't totally sure. Maybe he felt less remorse 'dealing with' them, maybe he even identified with them. Butch had left a string of bodies in his wake, usually crippling his victims in a fairly brutal manner. The fact that it did it to rapists and murderers seemed to diminish the horror he inflicted on them.

Boomer preferred more conventional fare.

Purse-snatchers, petty criminals, bank robbers, and things of that nature interested the blonde Rowdyruff. These were not really hardened criminals, but they still deserved what they had coming, and unlike Butch's preferred targets, they were always plentiful. Murders and bank robberies had skyrocketed soon after the Powerpuffs had been dealt with, but had quickly dropped off dramatically. The petty acts against society, however, had steadily maintained a healthy presence in Townsville, especially at night, when the Powerpuffs went to bed. It was a pity, and a surprise, for many criminals that Rowdyruffs went to sleep when they felt like it.

As if on cue, Boomer heard a scream, and looked down, pinpointing its source. His vision magnified and focused, and he saw a large man with a black sweater pull another, smaller, man in a suit and tie out of a blue Lexus and throw him to the curb. A simple car thief would do as well as any, and the blue ruff dropped down to earth, in a gravity-assisted dive. As he did, he admired the car: a very nice job, and an excellent choice in color, though Boomer preferred convertibles. Not too sporty, but still a very nice ride.

Landing on the roof, he sunk his hands into the fragile metal, and tore off the top half of the speeding car. Boomer smiled at the surprised and shocked criminal at the wheel.

"Hey, buddy!" He waved the torn off roof with one hand. "What's this? Windows rolled up, doors locked, don't you know its convertible weather?"

The criminal's mouth moved, but nothing came out.

Boomer just shook his head. "Anyway, so... stole a car, eh?"

"Um..." The criminal slowly nodded, afraid.

Boomer still smiled. "Hey, I ain't mad. You just wanted to go for a ride, right? What's the harm in that?"

"Er... yeah. Just... wanted to go for a ride!" The guy nodded vigorously, now.

"Well...! Why didn't you just say so right off the bat, pal?" Boomer jumped off the car, still matching its speed, flew under it, and lifted it off the ground. With a mighty heave, he threw it up and away, towards the ocean. The screams of the carjacker disappeared as he flew into the distance. Boomer chuckled softly and flew back up into the cool air.

"Enjoy the ride, jackass." Boomer turned down at the few people below on the streets, and in hastily parked cars. "Let this be a lesson to all you people! Wear your damn SEATBELT! It is, after all, against the law not to."

Quite a few citizens hastily clicked their belts in place.

"Good!" Boomer grinned, hearing them, and took off into the sky. After a few minutes, however, he realized he had developed a case of the midnight munchies. Soaring down, he found a good enough looking convenience store gas stop that was still open, and floated in. The only one around was a Korean guy behind the counter who got real nervous when the Rowdyruff entered.

"Yo, old man!" Boomer waved at the guy, picked up a bag of potato chips, and was about to leave when something caught his eye while passing by an isle near the front. Thinking it over for a few seconds, he grabbed the birthday candles and pocketed them. A Rowdyruff never paid - he took what he wanted, when he wanted. He went where he wanted, when he wanted. He did what he wanted. The people of Townsville had come to accept that as the price they paid for their 'protection.'

Some, perhaps, even thought it only fair.

Floating out of the store, Boomer felt a tingling in the back of his neck, and instinctively leaned back as a flurry of bullets passed in front of him. Boomer turned, slowly, and saw an armored man in the shadows. A red visor covered the man's face, attached to a black helmet. Boomer dully noted the gouts of flame that erupted from the extensions to the man's shoulders, and upper back, as he roared forward, large .50 cal rifle firing. Boomer's eyes narrowed, he threw up the bag of chips, and he flew to the side and around, trying to keep ahead and away from the rounds. He knew from experience that their nightshade capsule bullets were more than enough to slow a Rowdyruff down, if not kill him with repeated blasts that could break the skin.

"Well, I wonder what the odds were of this brightening an otherwise dull night out?" Boomer weaved between the shots.

The weapon was no doubt dangerous, but bullets were still easy enough to avoid given their speed. It was deadly as a first shot weapon, though, and amazingly enough, the man aiming it kept pace with the Rowdyruff. Boomer sharp eyes picked up the small white tube connecting to a collar around the man's neck, feeding him tiny amounts of Chemical X, enhancing speed, metabolism, strength, stamina, and a hundred other things, even as it shortened his lifespan to less than a decade.

"The only bets I'm taking..." The mercenary spat. "Are how many pieces you'll be in when this is over!!"

"My money's on one," Boomer quipped, and his eyes flashed white before narrowing into a crimson beam. "You know, you guys really need to get out more! At least to the local video store, this revenge gig is so overdone!"

"Ha!" The man's head snapped to the side, and the beam shot over his shoulder. "Missed!"

"Lemme suggest a movie." Boomer smiled as his eye beam cut into one of the gas stations outside the convenience store, just as conveniently placed behind the armored merc. It glowed white hot for a split second before exploding in a fountain of flame and ash. The man arched his back and screamed as it engulfed him and threw him forward.

"Batman Returns, maybe?" Boomer chuckled, and raced forward to finish the job. The blast had only stunned his opponent. Boomer complimented the effect, by solidly uppercutting the man, and tearing the melted rifle from his hands.

"That was cheap!" The armored man's jetpack and shoulder stabilizers lit up in midair, and he righted himself. His hands glowed, and he fired off blasts of crackling purple energy. "But it won't save you! I'm one of the best!"

"Oh, I'm impressed!" Boomer was hard pressed to dodge and weave through the ever-increasing density of attacks. "But that doesn't change one thing..."

"Yeah? What's that?" The man called back, as a blast cut just past Boomer's face, slightly singing his cheek.

"I'm..." Boomer held up one arm and pulled back the other. His speed multiplied as he kicked in his afterburners, blue flames engulfing his body. "BETTER!"

With a thunderous crash, his fist slammed into the mercenary's jaw, shattering his visor and cracking his helmet. As his neck twisted around, Boomer tore into his wounded opponent, repeated blows destroying and breaking the black and white armor, and crushing and breaking the man underneath it. The Chemical X alone allowed him to survive the blows at all, but the fight quickly ended as it had to.

The battered body hit the ground with a wet bloody splat.

"Another one bites the dust." Boomer landed nearby. He saw the man slowly breathing and figured he'd probably survive - laid up in the hospital for a few months at least. He briefly considered killing the man, but it would only turn him into another martyr and encourage his friends to turn to the Professor for augmentation.

"Idiots," Boomer grumbled, not sure whether he meant Brick and Mojo, for allowing the Professor to go about his business largely unmolested, or these people for turning to the man to avenge the 'death' of the Powerpuff Girls. Still, Brick was no fool, and if he was right... letting people play out their futile 'vengeful hero' fantasies would work out better in the long run than hunting them down and kidnapping or killing the Professor.

Besides, it was fun.

Hands out, he caught the bag of chips he'd thrown up earlier, and headed back to Mojo's Observatory, a smile on his face. Boomer felt better than he had all day.


	2. Gauntlet: Crucible part 2

Like a good communist, I own nothing.

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"Gauntlet: Crucible"  
Part 2

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May 2

I'm not a nice guy. I've heard people say they were 'born bad,' if that's true, then I was created bad. My brother, Brick, once called me a "delightfully honest sadist." I didn't really get it then, but after he explained it, it seemed a good enough description. Curiosity drove me to look closer at this girl in front of me: Buttercup. She's my counterpart, I suppose. Came color clothes, eyes, hair... Anyway, I wondered if she was made bad, like me, if she was a sissy girl like her sisters. Maybe I'm just hoping to oversimplify things, to make everything black and white, like Brick always says I do. Maybe I'm starting to 'empathize' with her, or using her to find out more about myself, like Boomer says. Truthfully... I dunno. Don't much care, either.

I'm Butch.

"Three forty six!"

"Butch, tha big man! Goin' for the record!"

"Three... forty seven!"

"No way he makes it to three fifty," Boomer's voice came from behind, loud enough to be easily heard over the Metallica heavy metal music filling the Battle Room.

"Come on Butch!" Brick pumped his fist. "Almost there!"

Butch grimaced; his whole body felt like it was on fire. His arms felt like taffy, and he was breathing heavily, desperately, like a beached whale. Ragged gasps escaped through his lips, but he gritted his teeth and pushed forward, ignoring the pain. The bar in his hands bent from the strain as he lifted it off its supports, above the Rowdyruff's chest, and into the air.

"Three forty EIGHT!" Butch snarled, and for a second, it looked like his arms were going to go lax. Brick tensed, hands just under the bar, serving as spotter. The bar locked back in place as Butch slowly lowered it, arms trembling fiercely.

Boomer was silent. Almost. "Dude... three fifty... You're going to pull something doing this, man."

"I can do it!" Butch growled, chest heaving, exhaustion creeping up on him.

"Two more, dude! Two more!" Brick patted his brother on the shoulder.

"Two more," Butch agreed, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. With a mighty heave, he lifted the bar again into the air, before quickly locking it into place, his muscles obviously fatigued. Even Brick seemed concerned at that, but both boys knew if Butch didn't get to three fifty here, he'd regret it later.

"One more, man," Brick looked down at his brother. "One more. You are SO damn close."

Butch smiled warily. "Three fifty. Three fifty..."

"Three fifty! Three fifty!" Brick chanted. Even Boomer jumped in. "Three fifty! Three fifty!"

"Three..." Butch roared, lifting the bar into the air over him. "THREE FIFTY!"

The bar collapsed back into place with a loud slang of metal on metal, and Butch rolled off the bench and onto the floor. Looking up, he had a wide grin on his face as he laughed, raggedly, eyes closed.

"Holy shit, dude," Brick nudged him with his foot. "You are a hardcore animal!"

"How do you feel, bro?" Boomer asked, more concerned than ecstatic.

"Geez... how... how do ya think I feel?" Butch coughed. "I feel great!"

"You crazy bastard!" Brick leaned over, and slowly helped Butch to his feet. "Well, you did it! ...Was it the Wheaties?"

"Hell yeah it was the Wheaties!" Butch lurched forward. "Man, I am taking the hottest damn shower imaginable after this." He paused and pivoted a bit. "Boss-man, you said somethin' 'bout a job tonight?"

"Yeah. Pops wants us to put a little scare on this rich chick," Brick checked his watch. "That's in... almost five hours. You should rest up 'till then. Should be a cakewalk, but ya never know."

"Right, right!" Butch nodded slowly, and walked off, ending the conversation then and there. Simply, he was too tired to talk about it. Behind him, Boomer and Brick headed off, talking between themselves. Hitting the showers, Butch winced as the scalding hot water poured down on him, but quickly adjusted to the heat. The burning temperature always relaxed him, like a Phoenix reborn.

Feeling a bit restless, Butch found himself taking a quick walk through one of Mojo's labs. He had about four different ones, not counting the armory, and most of the time he was in one of them, building something or scribbling away at some new design or plan. Butch really didn't give that much thought to it all. He preferred the straightforward approach, and while Mojo did, too, they had totally different ways of going about it.

Mojo relied on his machines and his designs.

Butch just liked crackin' skulls.

Granted, he could understand, and even pity, Mojo for not having any actual superpowers. He had to compensate for it with his latest version of the Robo Jojo (up to version 6.4B last he checked), or some new gun, or whatnot. Butch even grasped the concepts behind a bunch of things - he wasn't one for scheming or planning things out, like Brick, but he wasn't an idiot. He just preferred the honesty of upfront combat.

Man to man.

Person to person.

The strongest being victorious. Strength was honest, unquestionable; it had a certain purity to it that was lacking in the world. Butch honed his body and his mind, because they were one and the same. Mojo neglected one for the other. It was a shame, really. Still, Mojo was nothing if not tenacious, and Butch indeed could respect that. Even admire it. Would he still be trying to accomplish his dreams after so many failures and setbacks, he wondered, or would he have given up?

"Wassap, old man?" Butch saw Mojo hunched over something. Sparks were flying. "Buildin' somethin'?"

Mojo straightened up, and gave him a cross look. Butch ignored it, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"I am working on a new and even more powerful laser, that I will use to destroy my enemies, and the structures inhabited by my enemies, and their vehicles. And other things related to those things I already mentioned to you." Mojo crossed his arms, seemingly annoyed at having to explain himself. Still, Butch picked up a hint of a smile.

"Issat so? What was wrong with tha old one?"

"As you may know, either having read, or having heard, from me, Mojo Jojo, many times before, a laser is an acronym for 'Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation.' This laser system I am working on, and constructing, for various aforementioned purposes, is similar to the U.S. Airforces' M.I.R.A.C.L. laser system, as it operates in the infrared range, however, being the worlds GREATEST genius, my laser system is far more powerful and efficient! It is better! It is superior! It is built and designed by Mojo Jojo, and so it must, by nature, be the best that it can be!"

"And?" Butch gave a wiry grin. It always amused him how Mojo rambled.

"As defines a Laser, this means that the actual beam cannot be seen by the human eye. If I wanted to see the beam that was a result of my weapon, I would not be able to. Even if I squinted, even if I really tried, I would not be able to! To compensate for this, for I, Mojo Jojo, WANT to be able to see and evaluate the accuracy of my weapon when I, Mojo Jojo, fire it, a small visual beam is shot with the laser as a tracer. Additionally, a laser weapon, including THIS laser weapon, ionizes the air that it passes through, leaving a steam trail that lasts less than a second, so after the initial beam connects with the target a white tracer trail appears. This is not the problem I am solving, however, it is the fact that although lasers also create no noise when fired, the air the beam travels through ionizes and expands outwards, creating a mild boom sound. I find this noise very annoying to my sensitive ears! Mojo Jojo's ears are offended by it!"

"So...?" Butch was listening intently now. If it annoyed him so much, though, why not just wear earplugs or something?

"So, I am going to modify the tracer beam! I will increase its power and change it up so it fires before the main beam. It will fire preemptively, and in so doing it will ionize the air a millisecond before the more powerful infrared beam is fired."

"Makes sense. ...How's it going, then?"

"It was going fine until you started annoying me!!" Mojo turned to the open hatch on the laser and started working. "Now go away or play or enjoy yourself elsewhere or something! But do not bother Mojo Jojo, for that is not what I want you to be doing! You should be doing something productive, not..."

Butch was already long gone.

Relaxing on the couch, he flipped on the idiot box and cruised mindlessly through the channels. There wasn't really anything on, so he kicked back on his personal beanbag (green, of course) and dozed off. He still had about four or so hours before he had to head out, which was plenty of time for a quick catnap.

Butch woke up refreshed and rejuvenated.

He flew effortlessly through the air as it whipped through his hair. They were moving at about a quarter of their top speed, there not being much of a rush, as Brick led them to their target. Boomer was talking about this new ride he'd seen advertised for 'Awesome World,' a theme park outside Citysville. He was obviously looking to go, and all agreed that it did sound like a good idea, but Brick insisted that it be put off for a few days at least. Still, it was no big deal. It would be a lot more enjoyable when more of their business in Townsville was taken care of, and then they could spend a whole day or two crashing 'Awesome World.'

"Woah. Check it out!" Boomer pointed down. "That the place?"

"That's it all right," Brick said, and started to descend rapidly. "Follow my lead. This'll be fun."

* * *

They landed near the front door to a massive mansion. The place was huge, done up in a mixture of Tudor, Victorian, and Colonial styles. There seemed to be a main part to it, from above, and two long wings, the east one of which branched off into yet another two wings. Butch had seen, before they landed, two pools, a lake, obviously artificial (it was in the form of a dollar sign), racquetball courts, tennis courts, badminton courts, a putting range, a laurel garden attached to a larger hedge maze, a couple smaller buildings, probably servant's quarters, and a whole ton of posh stuff scattered over two or three dozen acres. Whoever they were meeting was rich to beat the band.

"Lock and load!" Boomer took out a pair of dark sunglasses. It was tough finding a set that fit them, and stayed in place what with them not having noses and stuff, but it had been done. Brick and Butch nodded to each other and put theirs on, too.

"So what'd this person do to piss off Mojo, anyway?" Butch adjusted his glasses.

"What I heard is that this rich chick talked back to 'im." Brick shrugged. "It's a matter of respect."

"Wait, wait. This is all about some talkback?" Boomer asked. "Seems pretty steep, sending us."

"Hey, you play with fire, you get burned, ya know?" Brick crossed his arms.

"This is backtalk we're talking about here. There wasn't a fire. There wasn't even a Boy Scout rubbin' two sticks together." Boomer sighed. "Just seems excessive, ya know?"

"Besides, we talk back to Mojo all the time," Butch added.

"It's about respect and turf, my brothers." Brick eyed the front door to the mansion. "Respect n' another man's property, in our case, Townsville. Now get in character."

"Knock knock!" A thunderous roar filled the mansion as the main doors flew off their hinges. Butch walked in, calmly, followed by his two brothers. Brick looked around with his X-ray vision, and quickly pinpointed their target. Two security guards rushed them, but got pummeled in a heartbeat. The three boys only had to fly a short distance and then threw open the doors to an expansive dining hall.

Brick waved at the two people eating. "How you lovely people doing this fine night?"

Several attendants looked at him, torn between running and staying, their jobs or their lives. Needless to say, there was stunned silence and no answer forthcoming. Brick floated over to the younger of the two people seated at the table, which he assumed to be the girl Mojo mentioned.

"Am I trippin' on acid again, or did I just ask you a question, girlie?"

"R... Rowdyruff Boys?! What're..." She noticed Brick seemed to be getting more pissed off. "I mean. We're doing fine, right Daddy?"

Mr. Morebucks, sitting at the head of the table seethed, but didn't say anything - At least until Butch floated up next to him. "Hey there, Tubs. You know who we are right, Fatstuff?"

The older man nodded his head, obviously growing nervous.

"Then you probably know why we're here, too, Jiggles." Butch smiled warmly. "We're associates of your daughter's one time 'business' partner, Mojo Jojo, you remember him dont'ya... ya rolly polly fatass?"

No answer.

Brick, meanwhile, was still talking to Princess. "Now I'm gonna take a wild, totally unsupported guess and jump to the conclusion that you're 'Princess' Morebucks, right?"

"I'm Princess, yes."

"I thought so. Well, you remember your business partner Mojo Jojo, dont'ya Princess?"

She nodded slowly. "I remember him."

"Good for you. Looks like my brothers and me caught you at dinner. Sorry 'bout that. What'cha eatin'?"

"R...right now?" Princess looked down at her food. "Lobster."

"Lobster? What kinda Lobster?"

"Maine... Rock Lobster."

"Really," Brick continued, voice still jovial. "Where did you get 'em?"

"We had them delivered fresh."

"Fresh from Maine? All that way?" Brick licked his lips. "That sounds pretty damn good. I ain't never had Maine Lobster myself. How is it?"

"G... good."

"Mind if I have a bite?" Brick asked, pleasantly. Princess shook her head in the negative, and he picked up the Lobster by the body, and messily took a bite out of the tail, splattering butter over his chin and into her dress.

"Mmm... mm! That's a tasty animal! Hey, Boomer, you ever have Lobster before?"

"No," Boomer replied, simply.

"You should have one. It's damn good."

Boomer stuck out his tongue in distaste. "I ain't hungry."

"Ah, that's some good Lobster!" Brick eyed a glass of wine on the table. "That yours? What is it, Champagne?"

"It's... Chardonnay..." Princess answered, reluctantly.

"OH!" Brick backed off a little, hands in the air. "My bad! Looks good, though, and I've heard a glass a day prevents heart disease or some shit like that. You mind if I have some to wash this tasty lobster down with?"

Without waiting for an answer, Brick grabbed the glass and took a sip.

"Look, what's your name? I got his name..." Princess pointed to the blonde Rowdyruff. "Boomer. But what's yours?"

"The name's Brick, freckles." He slammed the glass down on the table, shattering it. "And you ain't talking your way outta this shit."

"Look..." Princess looked to her father, whose food was quickly being eaten by Butch and seemed about to explode and say something they both knew he shouldn't, then back to Brick. "I just want you to know how sorry I am that things got... so messed up between me and Mojo! When I talked to him, I..."

Brick looked at Mr. Morebucks, and without warning, a beam of energy blasted out from the ruff's eyes, just missing the older man, and blowing away one of their nervous butlers. It was a low powered blast, not meant to kill, but it shot the man backwards and into the wall where he hit with a sickening crunch. Turning back to Princess, Brick saw that she was shaking in fear, like her atoms are about to run off in every direction possible.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did that break your concentration? Please continue to bitch and moan."

Princess doesn't say a word.

"What's wrong? Oh, I guess you were finished. Let me ask you something, then. Would you describe for me what Mojo Jojo looks like?"

Princess looks right at him, cringing. In sudden anger, Brick's fist came down on the massive table, shattering it and throwing food everywhere.

"What country are you from?!" He demanded.

"W... What?" Princess stammered.

"What ain't a country I ever heard of! Do they speak English in 'What?'"

Princess seemed about to faint. "What?"

"ENGLISH, you freckle faced piece of white trash! Do-you-speak-it?"

"Y... yes."

"Then you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes."

"Then describe to me what Mojo Jojo looks like!"

Princess stammered again. "W...What?"

Brick's eyes started to glow dangerously under his dark shades. Butch and Boomer just laughed. "Say 'what' again! I dare ya! I double dare ya! Say 'what' one more goddamn time!" He roared. Princess was shaking terribly under his gaze.

"Now, describe what Mojo Jojo looks like!" Brick yelled in her face.

"Well... he's black..."

"Go on!"

"And... and he's got a freakishly huge brain..."

"Does he look like a little bitch?"

Stammering again, not really thinking, Princess answered, "What?"

Brick's eyes left her, and he nodded to Butch. The black haired Rowdyruff smirked, and suddenly backhanded Mr. Morebucks, sending him flying to the floor in a heap.

"Daddy!" Princess screamed, and started trembling and fearing for her life like never before.

"I'll ask again." Brick turned to her. "Does he look like a little bitch?"

"n... no."

"Then why you treatin' him like a little bitch, Princess?"

"i... didn't."

"Yes you did, little girl. Yes you did!" Brick reached over and picked her up roughly by the arm. "You watch many movies? I got this adaptation I wanna say. 'Blessed is he who takes the time out of his busy schedule to shepherd the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will come down upon your ass with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is BRICK when I smack the shit out of you!'"

"Butch! Boomer!" Brick called to his brothers. "Demolish this joint! I'm sure freckles and tubby can build another that's just as plush."

Ten minutes later, no stone stood upon another in what had once been Morebucks Mansion.

"Oh man, that was sweet." Butch cracked his knuckles (an odd thing to do, not having fingers).

"No, dude," Boomer interrupted. "That... was super sweet."

"Nay, nay, nay, my brothers." Brick shook his hand at them. "That was, quite simply, sweetness."

"When that little freckled turd builds another house, I gotta remember to smash that one too." Butch laughed. "Just to see the look on her face again!"

"Word!"

"Something to mark on the calendar!"

"Hell yes!"

"Well, gentlemen, its been a fun night." Brick put the food down on the table - three doggy bags. "Let's take care of this last piece of business, and get to that Jaws Marathon on tonight."

"Excellent plan, Boss-man," Butch said, grabbing the doggy bag in the middle. Each Rowdyruff headed off in a different direction, and Butch went with a spring in his step. Today had been a good day. He'd broken a previously unthinkable Three Fifty reps with the weight machine cranked up to full, he'd gotten to eat caviar (which was damn good) and a bunch of expensive looking pastries, and he'd helped reduce a place to rubble in true style.

He made a short turn down the hall deep in the subbasement of Mojo's place, and came to the locked bars of a cell. It was Mojo's personal design, made to hold even the angriest Powerpuff against her will. The walls were some kind of exotic material, about a foot thick, that Mojo cooked up specifically to hold them. The bars were the only weak point, despite being made of the same material, and they had an energy shield of some form or another coursing through them. Butch had touched it once, experimentally, and it had hurt like hell. Besides, even if one of the girls escaped, there'd be three Rowdyruffs to deal with before she could escape.

He looked through the bars, his narrow eyes just making out the green Powerpuff: Buttercup, at the far end, huddled against the wall, whimpering. She had, indeed, been the toughest of the girls' merry little band. She had even jumped him on sight the first two days, but it hadn't been too much of a problem, given him being in top form and her still hungry and weak. Still, tough though she was, she had been the first to break. Brick's words got to the redheaded girl well enough, and Boomer's charge, while non violent, still appeared defiant until recently. Buttercup, however, had withdrawn.

Maybe it was being beaten in battle.

Maybe it was being unable to deal with a situation physically.

Butch frowned, a bit, seeing the correlations between himself and this Powerpuff. Deactivating the energy grid, he turned on the lights and walked in. She whirled to face him, arms crossed in a weak imitation of bravado. Her eyes, however, caught him. She looked so weary, so beaten... so emotionally beaten.

"Chowtime, green-eyes," He said, not wanting weird thoughts clouding his mind. Not tonight, not after today, not with a kickass campy Jaws marathon on the boob tube. "Eat quickly. There are surfers on the tube about to be eaten by a forty foot shark, and I don't want to miss the blood."

She blinked at him, and lunged at the doggie bag, but he kept it just out of reach for the moment. Not really out of cruelty, he wasn't in the mood for that, but because he had caught a flash of red.

"Hey!" He called to her. "Lemme see your hands!"

"No!" She managed to bark back.

"Show me them... now," He said, slowly, forcefully.

She hesitated, but stepped forward, arms out. Butch raised an eyebrow at her bloody knuckles. "Poundin' away at the wall again, eh green-eyes?"

She nodded.

"You know it ain't gonna get ya anywhere..." He put the bag down and got a close look at them. Her knuckles were battered and red, some swollen. First Aid wasn't one of his specialties, but he reached into the bag, took out a napkin, and dabbed it on his tongue. Annoyed, and in a hurry, he cleaned the blood off and crumpled up the napkin.

"Well, if you get infected or some shit like that it's your own fault." He took a step back. "Now hurry up and eat."

Buttercup looked down at the bag, and emptied its contents: a plain hamburger and a little bottle of water. She looked at the food intensely, and uncharacteristically, she spoke. "Why are you doing this?"

"What're you talking about?"

"Why... why don't you kill us?"

"You that anxious to die?"

"I'm not afraid to die!"

"You should be, green-eyes. ...I am."

She looked at him, and her lower lip trembled. "I hate you."

"Take a number." Butch smiled. "Hell, Mojo wants to kill ya - probably real slow and messy, too. You want me to call him down so he can do the dirty deed?"

Buttercup's bravado evaporated. "No."

"Didn't think so."

Buttercup ate the burger in two quick bites, and finished the water in one gulp. She looked into the bag again, in case she'd somehow missed seeing something, but found nothing. She put it down dejectedly, and threw the empty burger wrapper and bottle inside. Butch picked it up and was about to leave, when she spoke up again.

"Are... Is Bubbles... n' Blossom... are they...?"

"They're alive, yeah." Butch paused. "What makes ya think they aren't?"

"We... we used to..." She looked at the wall behind her cot. "We used to see each other... in our dreams. I haven't seen them since..."

"Well they're alive. I'm tellin' ya they are, and I don't have any reason to lie, now do I?"

"No. I guess not."

He walked out and closed the bars behind them, just as Buttercup walked forward, following him. Just just the bars separated them by only a second's time, but Butch didn't see or sense any anger to the movement - more like desperation. She didn't want to be left alone. More than anything. The bars energized, and she took a step back as they did.

"G'night green-eyes." Butch gave her one last look, and switched off the lights, plunging everything into darkness. Upstairs, Butch joined his brothers, but for some reason, he couldn't totally concentrate on making fun of the stupid movie.


	3. Gauntlet: Crucible part 3

Like a good communist, I own nothing.

* * *

"Gauntlet: Crucible"  
Part 3

* * *

May 1

Am I bitter? Do I blame myself for opportunities lost? Maybe I am too cautious. Maybe I am a coward. Sometimes I wonder: is it the lingering effects of oblivion that creep into my dreams... that find me every time I close my eyes? Is it simple jealousy, fear, hatred... or am I truly damned - a rejection of humanity that has come to terms with itself? Why do I smile at that thought?

Brick is my name.

Mojo laughed long and loud.

"Your defensive scheme has collapsed, my boy! Collapsed! Disintegrated and fallen apart at the seams! You have lost the battle, and soon you shall lose the war! I, Mojo Jojo, will then be victorious! Stalingrad has fallen to me! The Caucasus is MINE, along with its THREE Industrial Production Points! You have underestimated the strength and tenacity of the German Army for the last time! Moscow itself is threatened! Quake... in... Fear!"

Brick frowned. "This is far from over, pops. Karelia still stands, and your defense of Finland/Norway is laughable."

Mojo smirked. "We shall soon see who the victor of this contest of arms is, boy. We shall soon see. ...That the victor is MOJO!"

"Yeah, yeah. Just finish your turn, pops." Brick watched, as Mojo moved around his units, shifted his defenses to compensate from threats from the Atlantic, at this point Britain - the United States still being largely a non-factor. Minor setbacks in Africa had clouded Mojo's turn as the Third Reich, but that was small compensation for the loss of Stalingrad. Brick was rolling badly, and felt an unlucky streak coming on.

After Mojo finished, they called a temporary truce, and took a break from the game. While his 'father' went off to his Lab, as always, Brick walked, aimless and deep in thoughts not related to the game. Oddly enough, he found himself in Mojo's Armory. It was, really, a sort of Trophy Room as well. There were pictures on the walls...

Brick's eyes passed over a screaming chimpanzee in a weird hat, as well as a framed photo of Mojo, gun in hand, posing with a girl in some type of armor, a skinny red fellow, and a big pink bear-type creature in overalls. The bottom of the frame read: 'Beat-Alls 2000 Reunion.' There were a few pictures of Mojo taken in different parts of the world: a Safari in Africa, probably Kenya, Mojo giving a 'victory' sign in front of Tokyo Tower in Japan, in some undisclosed laboratory with a few other sneaky and evil looking scientist types, a picture of Mojo with long hair (what was he thinking?) protesting in Washington DC in front of the White House for 'Supervillain's Rights...' And one picture of him and his boys, all of them together, smiling and celebrating.

Brick remembered that day.

They'd just defeated the Powerpuff Girls, and left them broken and beaten in the middle of Townsville. Brick hadn't really wanted to kill them, just crush them utterly and beyond doubt. He had suspected back then... no, he had known, back then, that Mojo had created them for the sole purpose of destroying the Powerpuff Girls and that it was more advantageous for him, and his brothers, if the Girls were simply beaten and not destroyed. That way they would remain useful to Mojo, keeping the Girls at bay, but would never outlive their usefulness. Additionally, a part of Brick had balked at outright murder - domination was more than enough to satiate him.

They'd returned from that fight victorious, and Mojo had greeted them with open arms, and promised a celebration in their honor. He was their coach more than a father, and Brick had treated him accordingly, dousing him with some Gatorade swiped from a local high school football game they'd flown over. Boomer had actually set up the camera, and the sticky and soaked Mojo Jojo had sat there, with them at his sides, smiling for the camera. It had been a happy moment, cut short, in such a short life.

Brick sneered at the memories that came pouring down on him, like a deluge. They had ordered pizza, a box for each of them, from a local joint. Boomer and Butch had gotten into an argument over whether Hawaiian Pizza was nasty or pure genius; Brick had settled on simple pepperoni and mozzarella cheese. Mojo had actually gotten banana and anchovies, which had naturally grossed everyone out. Butch had insisted on the hottest tongue-burning Buffalo wings in Townsville, a whole bloody bucket of 'em, and Boomer had looked forward to some kind of exotic bread or crust on his pizza.

Mojo hadn't wanted it delivered - he didn't like people coming to his Observatory (he liked to still think of it as a Secret Base), and he quite correctly stated that it would be simpler and quicker for one of the boys to go get it. Brick, stubborn as always, didn't want to break the mood or the moment, and insisted on delivery. Occasionally he wondered what would have happened if he hadn't been such a jackass, if he had sent Boomer or Butch out so that they wouldn't have been there when the Girls returned. They were all there, though, when it happened: drinking soda around the table, he never saw the Girls pass by behind them, but he would never forget the look on Mojo's face when they did.

Surprise.

Disappointment.

Anger.

Brick clenched and unclenched his fists in memory. A jumble of feelings and emotions and thoughts had raged: inwardly he'd questioned himself and his decision-making abilities as leader. Outwardly, it was business as usual. He'd resolved to beat the Powerpuffs again, regain Mojo's respect ...his love, even, maybe. If the Girls had to die so that the Rowdyruffs had a home, a family, a sense of purpose, then Brick would see it done, and done to the letter.

He'd still been deliberating it even as he chased the girls, Boomer and Butch by his side. Then, without warning, they had... transformed. Brick's mind, already in turmoil, had simply frozen, stunned, at them. Analytically, he identified it as a new attack: both his brothers were affected as well. He tried to predict what they would do, but came short. He could not follow their thinking, he could not believe what he was seeing, and he refused to come to terms with what was going on.

The feel of warm lips on his cheek burned his face, sent shivers down his spine, and for the first time brought into question who he was, what he was, what he was doing, why he was doing it, and most of all... who and what he wanted to be. This was his fear, embodied by the word 'cooties.' They were questions he could not answer, feelings he had never felt and worst of all: couldn't deal with. So he screamed, and fell apart at every level. The warm feelings turned so easily to pain, to blanketing white pain, and then to the thick chill of death. His last coherent thoughts were of fear, and the shame... so much shame... so much failure...

Brick blinked, and the memories were gone.

Hidden.

Locked away, once more.

He looked past the pictures, over Mojo's wide assortment of weapons. There was a section devoted to old ones - medieval swords and axes of various types, bardiches and polearms. A set of Japanese and Chinese weapons: exotic ones kept behind glass. There were a few collectors' edition replicas of famous weapons from different movies. The heart of the collection, however, was the World War Two gallery of mint condition Axis firearms. Brick had asked Mojo about them, once, and gotten more than an earful. There was, reading the labels, a Schmeisser MP-40, a Mauser Karabiner 98-K Rifle, a Mauser C-96 Pistol with a bunch of weird looking accessories, a Sturmgewehr MP-44 Assault Rifle, with a historical certificate underneath, something called a FG-42 Assault Rifle, and a big gun labeled MG-42, with a large block of ammunition next to it. Brick sighed. Mojo was sort of a gun freak.

He also had a lot of explosives sitting around.

Live explosives.

Brick retreated from the place, mind still churning. Butch, he knew, was in the TV room practicing Tai Kwon Do, or something with a lot of heel kicks, and Boomer was probably out cruising over the town. Recently, Professor Utonium's little gang of superhero wannabe hit men had increased in number, but Brick wasn't overly concerned for Boomer, who more than knew how to take care of himself in a jam. Most of the hit men were just angry Townsville citizens with some combat experience in the military who took the supposed 'death' of the Powerpuff Girls harder than most. They had put the 'murdering scum' Rowdyruffs on the top of their To-Do list, and while they were a threat, especially in numbers, they wouldn't dare attack the Observatory itself, and they weren't individually as strong or fast or accustomed to their Chemical-X enhanced abilities as one who had been born with them.

Still walking, still thinking, Brick decided to find his way down, deep below the Observatory. As he fully realized where he was headed, he smiled. She would serve well enough for some interesting conversation, and it would serve his plans well. Oh yes, over the time that he had watched and waited, he had calculated what was to be done with the Powerpuff Girls, with Townsville, and with the world at large, given his exclusive knowledge. He well remembered that day, when they had again floated over their defeated opponents, but this time by Brick's own design, not Mojo's. They had floated there, unsure what to do next, Blossom unconscious on the wet pavement, when Brick had told them. "Gather around me, my brothers. I have a Plan."

He had told them what he expected of them, what he anticipated they do. And when they were unsure, he explained it again. He told them how, in thought over just what they were to do; he had done some research, and found something interesting. It was called Stockholm Syndrome, and it was the answer to a great many things. It required four things, he had told them.

A perceived inability to escape.

Isolation from perspectives and individuals other than that of their captor.

A modicum of kindness supported by mounting terror and desperation.

A perceived threat to life and limb.

Only with the Powerpuffs again defeated at their hand had Brick allowed them to return to Mojo, only with that small redemption of failure had he allowed them to complete their resurrection from the grave. To return in any other fashion would be another blight, and another Shame, in a life already too thick with such things. Brick knew, then as now, that he did not have the tenacity and resilience of his creator. He did not have the emotional capacity to bounce back from defeat after defeat. To Mojo, perhaps, each defeat was simply another step towards the perfect plan, and ultimate victory, so every defeat was, in a way, a small success. Brick understood the thinking, but could not truly grasp or believe in it. Defeat was humiliation, defeat was submission, and defeat was... castration: a loss of manhood and authority.

He could not abide it.

So he resolved himself, and committed himself to his plan, his course of action, his solution to the Powerpuff dilemma. He would turn them to his way of thinking, to his cause and his will. He would not do so through magic, or trickery, or even science. He would do so through carefully planning, strategic prudence, and well understood psychology. They would be his bulwarks against a double cross at the hands of Mojo. They would be his ladder to 'legitimate' rule of Townsville, and the love of its people. At the very least, they would be forever changed, and this would be accomplished by his plan, not Mojo's! He would make some impact on the world, this he felt with every fiber of his being. He would not return again to Death's cold embrace without some mark to his name, and those of his brothers.

He poured himself a tall glass of water, and headed off.

He opened the bars to the cell and walked in, sipping his drink idly. She was already up and glaring at him, a mixture of anger and confusion. Of the two, he was most glad to see the latter. From what he had seen and learnt of her, Blossom had far less experience with confusion than anger, and that fact would make the situation more to Brick's benefit.

"Hello, Bloss." He smiled at her, eyes glittering in the fresh fluorescent light from above. He had talked to her yesterday, and very briefly the day before that. He kept the tone of his voice low and dangerous however. There was no need to play nice at the present.

"What do you want?" She asked, gruffly. Defiant. He found himself liking that about her. It frustrated things... and made them more interesting.

More challenging.

"I thought we might talk." Brick closed the door behind him. If she ran for it, just opening it would more than slow her down enough for him to overtake her. He then sat down on the end of her bed: a measly hard wire frame cot (Mojo wouldn't have it any other way, Brick supposed), and put the drink down next to him. He noted her eyes passing over it. He knew she'd be thirsty.

"Unless you're going to let us go and surrender yourselves and..."

"Come now. I know you're not that stupid as to make demands in your position. A position that could be so easily... so swiftly ...downgraded to far worse," Brick said, slowly, and patted the bed. "Sit. I won't bite if you promise not to kiss me."

She scowled, but warily sat down next to him. She had tried the kiss-kill thing before, and he had even let her do it, just to show that it wouldn't work. It was naturally quite disgusting to him, but after the first shocking treatment, the repeat performance was nothing more than an annoyance. He'd simply loved the look on her face when it hadn't worked, however.

"I'm curious," He began. "Why, exactly, do you want to rule Townsville?"

"W... What?" She blurted out, not understanding.

"I said: Why do you want to rule over Townsville? I personally believe it stems from a misguided sense of responsibility, or possibly guilt, but I wanted to find out from the source." He looked at her intently.

"I don't want to 'rule' over Townsville!" Blossom sounded genuinely insulted.

"You really think that? You're lying to yourself."

She snorted at him and looked away at the far wall.

"Hmm," He started anew. "Lemme get this straight. You protect the people of Townsville, am I correct?"

"We DID."

"A yes. You defend them when they cannot defend themselves?"

She looked at him, questioningly.

"Am I right?" He prompted.

"Yes," She finally answered.

"You help them when they cannot help themselves?"

Blossom thought of the Mayor and answered. "Yes."

"You selflessly tend to their needs, asking nothing in return."

"Yes!"

"Townsville would be lost without you girls?"

"...Yes!"

"Like sheep without a Shepard?" Brick smiled, calmly.

"..." Blossom paused before answering. "Do YOU really think that?"

"I know it. The people of Townsville... they need you."

"They do!"

"Need leads to dependence. Dependence leads to Domination. Power over others. Influence over others." Brick saw the look in her eyes, and savored it. "You rule over Townsville. Why do you think so many villains have a beef with you? You girls are... were... the big junkyard dogs that everyone wanted a piece of."

"You're twisting words..."

"I'm not and you know it. You always have." He took a small sip of water before continuing. "Always so eager to answer that Hotline of yours. Always so eager to be in control. Saving the city... for yourselves. For your egos. I do the same, except I'm honest about my reasons."

"We... we're heroes!"

"Because you fight evil? Because you defend truth and justice and love... because you support and uphold the status quo? Because you bolster an incompetent regime and it gives you the accolades of the people? Of course you're heroes." Brick leaned closer to her. "A Hero is just a villain who fights against Change."

Blossom snarled at his words. "Go away."

"Lemme go on for just a little more, Bloss. I'm almost done, and you still haven't answered my question. You're a very smart girl, I'm sure you've heard of Hegel, a rather keen philosopher. He believed that humans shared with animals a core set of desires for objects outside themselves: food, drink, shelter, preservation of life... man differs in that he desires the desire of other men. He wants to be recognized, respected, to be seen as a human being with certain worth and dignity. Only man is able to overcome animal survival instinct for higher abstract principles and goals. It is this unique trait that drives man to recognize and respect man through combat and conflict... a mortal life or death battle. And when the fear of death leads one combatant to submit, the relationship of master and slave is born. The goal of this battle is not food or shelter, but respect, and because this is not a biological desire, it is seen as the first glimmer of human freedom." Brick stopped, let what he'd said sink in. "I believe in that. You three girls... were the masters of Townsville, the muscle behind the laws, the walls holding back the barbarians. You inspired me, Blossom, I want you to know that."

The redheaded Powerpuff pulled up her legs and held them close to her chest. Brick couldn't see her face - a pity. The look on it would be priceless. "What do you want from us?" She asked, after several silent seconds.

"I... Maybe I want some understanding. Maybe I just want you to suffer for what you did to my brothers and me. Maybe it's as simple as that. Maybe I'm telling you this because I want you to feel personally responsible for what's happening to your city." He stood up, and looked at her fiercely. "Maybe I'm a cold hearted bastard who likes kicking people when they're down and stompin' on babies."

She didn't answer him.

"Well?" He picked up the glass, still half full, but didn't drink. "Why do you want to rule Townsville?"

"I..."

"An honest answer," He said that softly, and handed her the glass of water. "Here. You don't need to answer too quickly."

She looked down at it like poison, but relented and started hastily drinking. When it was finished, he pulled the glass back out of her cupped hands and waited for an answer. Blossom looked down at herself, and her shoulders trembled just slightly.

"I didn't plan for it." She started, voice so low it was hard to hear. "It just... happened. We had to do something. Everything was... was flying apart. We couldn't just watch while it happened."

"It was your responsibility," Brick said.

"...Yes. My responsibility."

He waited a few seconds, and then asked something else he wanted... needed to know. "You enjoyed it, didn't you?"

"...Yes."

"You liked saving the day. Being loved."

"Yes."

"Being admired."

"Yes."

"Being worshiped."

Tears were in her eyes: tears of guilt. "Yes!"

Brick nodded slowly. He reached over, wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "Don't cry, Bloss. It's not somethin' to feel guilty about. You should embrace it. Feel good about who you are. ...What you are."

She looked up at him, surprised by the gesture, even shocked. Slowly, he leaned back so he stood straight. His features settled into a comfortable frown, eyes cold.

"I'll be back late with dinner today," He told her, voice emotionless, simply stating fact. Without another word or gesture, he left.

* * *

Brick suspected that his brothers knew he lacked any sort of true crime fighting spirit, and this was true. Boomer, of the three Rowdyruffs, took to it most easily, enjoying himself in the chase. Butch saw it as a great opportunity to beat the hell out of a one or two people every night, and at least seriously wound twice that number. Brick, however, derived no true joy from such a non-challenge. Better than any, he knew and accepted what he was.

A weapon.

This in and of itself did not trouble him. To an extent, every man was a weapon against another, but Brick was an extreme of that. His powers did not have peaceful or passive applications. There wasn't even a 'stun' setting for his eye beams. No, he was a weapon to strike down the enemies of Mojo Jojo, and over time, he had evolved himself into more, to a better purpose and a better way, but the heart of the matter was concrete and unchangeable.

Mojo collected guns.

Mojo loved weapons.

Mojo loved his greatest weapons: The Rowdyruff Boys.

Soon, the world would love them for a similar reason. Soon, they would be worshiped, and then, they would rule. His brothers would be free; he would be free, redeemed, and ascendant. He had not lied when he had told Blossom that he admired her, and that his plans were honest extensions of her own subconscious desires.

Brick looked down at the city from his perch, high above the Metrowest Building. In the distance, a rather small monster was approaching the Southside pier, but Brick was not as yet concerned. He had known it was coming for some time, and knew better than to engage it in the water when it would be coming onto land. He looked instead to the city itself, past the glittering lights and venues, to the people themselves. What were they to him, but potential targets and sheep? How could excitement flow through his veins at the thought of involving himself with their affairs on such a minor... futile level?

At the monster's steady approach, he suddenly felt... vicious tonight.

"Ugly looking thing, dudes," Boomer said, excitement in his tone. This was the first monster he had the fun of engaging.

"You can say that again," Butch agreed.

Brick just watched as it rose out of the water completely and onto land. It was hulking and gray, a misshapen creature with half a face seemingly glued into a full one distinguishable by only two empty sockets where eyes might have been. Most of the body was thin, just skin stretched over oversized bones, and on parts, the bone even broke the surface, glistening a sickly chalk white against the bay lights. Two long arms, each ending in a sinewy three-fingered radial hand, swayed as it walked.

"It's... not attacking the town," Butch stated, surprised, as the creature meandered down a street, looking around.

"Maybe it's looking for the Powerpuff Girls," Brick speculated. "Or maybe it's just confused. Approach from the ground, let its confusion work for us."

"Right!" Boomer nodded.

"You got it, Fearless Leader!" Butch stuck his tongue out and did a mock salute.

As the three boys scattered in different directions, heading towards the creature low to the ground, Brick determined that there was a pattern to the creature's movements. It was swaying back and forth as it walked around, seemingly erratically, but it was slowly steadying towards facing one point: Mojo's Observatory. He had been right: it was looking for the Powerpuff Girls... or something similar, and it could somehow tell where they were.

Suddenly, the hollow sockets in its eyes started to glow.

"Shit! That's never a good sign!" Brick gritted his teeth, shot up at the creature's lower left leg, and backhanded its hamstring hard, causing it to stumble. In the distance, an area of Townsville Central Park shook as an invisible lance of energy tore into the Lake, releasing a column of superheated steam and a pillar of light from where it hit.

"Hit it HARD and hit it FAST, gentlemen!" Brick yelled, as Boomer and Butch shot up from below, the former taking out the creature's other leg, and the latter using his eye beams to try and cut a long gash down the monster's back. It didn't howl, or indicate any pain, however, despite the bleeding green gash down its lower back. It just pivoted, ripples flowing through its skinny, barebones arms, like a shifting of muscle from one part of the body to another.

It lashed out with incredible speed and silent ferocity.

"Move move move!" Brick yelled, as the creature swiped at them. It was quick, but they were quicker. They zipped in and out, pummeling its body and trying to sever the joints with eye beams. It was far tougher than it looked, and it almost hurt to hit the thing, but they were winning. It came as little surprise, then, when from deep in its hollow eyes tiny pinpricks of light began to form.

More than ever, Brick felt the energy building in his body, and blood pumping through his veins. Eyes charging, he readied himself for his own hidden power. So far, only he had manifested a 'special ability,' but then something better caught his eye. Floating backwards, fast as he could, he tore up a metal streetlight, twisting it so the bottom was a sharp point, flipped the curved end straight, and threw it like a javelin.

As the heat within the hollow eyes reached its peak, the giant makeshift spear struck true, and whatever was within prematurely activated. A titanic gout of flame and burning flesh issued from its upper body, forcing Boomer and Butch back from their assault, so intense was it. The body began to fall forward, towards Brick, when the realization dawned - it wasn't falling forward, it was leaning forward: reaching for him, even as its upper body melted and burned.

In his surprise, his acceleration suffered, and three cold calloused fingers enveloped him, pulled him forward. He strained against the crushing hold, but couldn't help but wince as his back was slammed down and into the hard street below. He opened his eyes just in time to see rhythmic pulses, ripples, flowing down the creature's skinny arm towards him, each one impacting like a hundred thousand jackhammers. He damn near spit blood, and below him, the street cracked and heaved. Bloody droplets from what had once been the monster's upper body dripped down, staining everything...

Brick's eyes opened, full of red fire, and with every ounce of being, with every belief he had of himself as the weapon, as the instrument of death and destruction, white hot invisible energy shot forth. It seemed to struggle against the creature's body, at the point where its arm attached to the body, before melting through completely. The massive right arm fell limp, the fingers lost their strength, and Brick tore himself free. The crippled creature still stood, and with its one good arm, continued to strike out at them... at least until Butch got a good hold of it, and twisted it at the elbow, cracking it loud enough to be heard all over Townsville.

At least, the weakened and beaten behemoth stumbled.

And exploded.

In those few seconds, it was over. Slick swaths of burned mottled skin hung from buildings, and the stench of blood hung high in the air. To Brick, he smelled disturbingly familiar. A swath of the bay area was devastated, but it wasn't nearly as bad a most of the beatings Townsville took. Brick took to the air, a bit hesitantly, and feeling like he'd been through a giant taffy pull, though he likely didn't look too bad. Butch and Boomer were in better shape, and busy celebrating.

"We bad?" Butch held out his hands.

"We bad!" Boomer slapped his own fists down on Butch's, and they started to moonwalk in midair.

"Ok, guys. This has been enough Community Service for tonight. Let's go home."

"Brick! Man, did you see that? The thing was fightin' with half its body gone!"

"It kicked ass!"

"No, WE kicked ass!"

"It was MY last blow that did it! SNAP! Crackle! POP!"

"No way, Butch! Consistency is the word - while you were busy messin' your pants flyin' around, I had to do some real work...! I set ya up for that move!"

"What the Hell did you say...?"

"What? You're deaf, too?"

"That's it, Blondie! Time for a take down!"

"Just try it, pal!"

Brick just shook his head. Today had been nothing. Nothing at all.


	4. Gauntlet: Crucible part 4

Like a good communist, I own nothing.

* * *

"Gauntlet: Crucible"  
Part 4

* * *

April 30

We lost. ...I lost.

Blossom.

It had been quiet the last few weeks. Normally monster attacks occurred fairly frequently, around every three or four days. Over the last year, Blossom had even come to speculate on a certain rhyme to them. She had seen that activity reached a peak at the extremes of a month, and generally diminished near the middle, though it was fairly rough, and several days off what she'd expected. As it was, the cycle seemed to be only twenty-seven days, less than a normal month. At those times, sometimes two or even three monsters would attack on the same day.

The last few weeks had seen none.

It made Blossom nervous, and she found herself spending more time than usual ready to pounce on the phone. Even more disconcerting than the failure of one of her theories to pan out had been a certain... unease creeping into the back of her mind. No one else seemed concerned. Mojo was relatively fresh out of jail, but he hadn't done anything over the last week - his longest bout of free inactivity in months (there was a small betting pool going around about when he'd finally snap and try something). Princess hadn't felt up to causing any trouble... and while HIM's machinations couldn't generally be predicted, he, too, had been absent for some time. Fuzzy had barged into Townsville the other day, and it had been almost a relief to see him cause trouble.

Looking up from her book, Conversational Cantonese, which was proving harder (and less interesting) than Conversational Mandarin, she watched Bubbles drawing away at a table. She was on her tenth piece of paper, and hunched over, several crayons in one hand, another in her right as it moved furiously. Buttercup was busy bragging to two other kids, both boys, about something. By the exaggerated gestures she was making, Blossom assumed it was some fight or another.

They had been in so many; it was impossible to guess which one.

Slowly, as if sensing her sister's gaze, Buttercup turned. Blossom realized she hadn't seen ...either of their faces... in what seemed like an eternity. As Buttercup turned, her features changed, melting and resettling like a candle. With a sudden flourish she shook her head, the tiny globs of wax flying away and revealing a different haircut of the same color. There was a crack of thunder, a flash of teeth.

"No..." She whispered, blinked, and the world was changed. It was that day. That moment.

Turning around, where Bubbles had been, she saw a boy with different hair, his features in a shallow scowl. The remains of crayons, red and black, slouched down his arms and hands. The tried to fight the transition, tried not to remember. Tried not to dream.

Behind her, through the heavy rain, she heard a whistle of displaced air. She took a step back, bumped into her two sisters, as they too looked at the source of the noise. The place had looked deserted from the air. Brick plowed into them, right through the glass of a convenience store. He didn't say anything, didn't warn them, he just shot out like a bullet, clotheslining Buttercup and Bubbles, even as both his knees crashed into Blossom like a tidal wave. He seemed about to come around for another pass, when he stopped, abruptly, in midair.

"Hey, what's wrong with you babies? You get a message that a maniac is tearing up an entire block of the city and take five whole minutes to respond?" Brick smirked. "How rude!"

Around them, cars were overturned; burning and sparking in the heavy rain, smoke billowing up into the air. Windows were broken, but all locally. It wasn't indiscriminate destruction, Blossom immediately realized, but a calculated effort. She didn't see any bodies, which was a good thing: it meant only property destruction.

"Where are your brothers?" The Powerpuff's leader demanded, recovering from his last blow.

"Butch? ...Boomer?" Brick smiled again. "They're right below you."

"What?" Bubbles gasped, as the ground beneath them exploded out, four lances of red energy cutting into the air around them. They'd focused on the red ruff, and hadn't even thought about looking down through the street with their X-ray vision. Blossom tried to yell a warning, but suddenly the ground beneath them fell away, and half the street lifted up behind and in front of them, as two long slabs of asphalt flipped up, squashing the three girls between them.

"Oh!" Brick shuddered. "I just love a good surprise attack to start a fight! That should piss 'em off a bit."

"Seemed kinda cheap to me," Butch complained.

"Meh." Boomer chuckled. "No real harm done."

"Should I add the cliché'd 'Yet' to that statement?" Brick never took his eyes off the two upright slabs of asphalt. After a few seconds, they cracked and fell away as the Powerpuff Girls broke free, dirty wet and angry. "Now, girls, what say we throw down, have at it, and all that good stuff?"

"What're you doing here? You guys are..." Blossom took a bold step forward. What was he planning? She knew, and yet she didn't, the dream, the memory, was so vivid and sharp.

"What: dead?" Brick asked. "You see, we're actually clones of the original Rowdyruff boys, created by the evil twin of the Professor, in a brilliant plan to replace all five and six year olds with genetic clones."

Boomer shook his head. "No, no, no! You might be a clone, but I'm an alternative version of Boomer, from a parallel dimension, just trying to get home and make a difference along the way."

Butch rolled his eyes. "I dunno about you guys, but I was recreated by Mojo as part of some off the wall scheme..."

Brick scratched his chin. "Wait, I thought you were resurrected by HIM..."

Butch turned to Boomer. "Hey, you said you were a time traveler from the future!"

"Dude," Brick cut in. "He told ME he was a time traveler from the PAST!"

Boomer pointed to Brick, laughing. "I thought you were an android!"

"That's crazy!" Butch gasped. "I always figured Boss-man here was some sort of doppelganger summoned from another realm..."

"Virtual Reality Construct..."

"Shape shifter..."

"Pod person..."

"Divine agent..."

"Transporter accident..."

The boys started to crack up, laughing, when they remembered where they were, suddenly, and snarled down at the three girls. Butch leaned forward, sullenly. "Well, that's about all I can come up with."

"No, that was good, man. Transporter accident..." Boomer smirked.

"You know what's really wrong here?" Brick crossed his arms contemptuously. "Try them, standing there like they've seen a couple o' ghosts..." His smile disappeared. "Maybe I should hit 'em again to prove we're real."

Boomer sighed. "What's wrong? Can't you three dimwits recognize a classic grudge match type deal when you see one? Hell-lo?"

"You call yourselves Superheroes?! Come on!" Brick floated forward, low to the ground, hands motioning for them to come at him.

"I've had enough of this talk! Let's get them!" Buttercup surged forward, before Blossom could even suggest to her sister a different course of action. Buttercup didn't care what they were going back from the dead. She didn't care that they were talking, not attacking, and obviously leading her into another trap. Buttercup's speed was beyond impressive, but Brick simply stepped aside as she charged, and tripped her. Wet and angry, she tried to stop against the ground, and instead slipped and skidded for twenty feet before coming to a stop.

Butch looked down at them dismissively. Boomer gasped in mock-surprise and fear. "Golly, Brick, they're serious! Maybe we should all just sit down and talk this over like good little children."

Brick squinted one eye in mock thought. "NAH! Let's not and say we did! Boomer - have a little talk with pinkie here. Butch - take care of the little blonde, and do it quick. I'll take care of the tomboy. Like we planned. Don't let up for a second."

"Right," both boys affirmed, as one, and charged without any other warning.

* * *

Shifting in what passed for her bed, recalling every moment, every blow, she admonished herself for not seeing Brick's plan beforehand. It should have immediately struck her that Brick hadn't turned things into a melee like he had before. Back then; he had counted on his brothers, as a group, simply outlasting the girls. Now, obviously, he had specific match ups in mind, and she should have seen why. She should have devised a counter, instead of letting surprise and shock get the better of her. She was leader - it was her fault! All her fault!

* * *

Boomer was a flurry of attacks, neither fast nor strong, and he kept at arm's length. To the left of her, she saw Buttercup, an enraged green blur, pushing a smiling Brick back under a wave of rapid punches as he blocked and fielded every one. To her right, Butch had Bubbles' face in one hand and was smashing the back of her head against a brick wall while she kicked at him, her glancing blows not bothering him in the least.

"What's the matter, Red? Distracted? You should pay closer attention to your surroundings." Boomer spun to the side, and out of nowhere he kicked out into her face. "My foot, for example!"

Annoyed, but not particularly hurt, she floated back and fired her eye beams.

"Woah!" He dodged the first blast, and twisted back to avoid the next. "Watch it with those, quickdraw! You could try out for the A-Team with marksmanship like that!"

"Shut up!" She growled, and lunged at him at full speed. He stood there, arms crossed, as if to block her, when suddenly he fell to the ground by gravity alone. Surprised, not having sensed any actual movement or change in orientation on his part, she slammed face first and through a plaster and dry wood wall. Hopping through the hole she'd just made, Boomer just pointed at her and laughed.

"Hey, Red! Anyone ever tell you that ya look like a big red wharf rat when ya get wet?" Boomer held his hands up, crudely imitating her bow. "Or maybe a rabbit! Isn't that right, bunny-ears?'"

Boiling with rage, kissing him the last thing on her mind, she just barely held back from charging at him again. He seemed annoyed by this, but his small smile, lips slightly parted, never faded as they slowly circled one another. They were inside someone's den, and flickering of the tiny television and sparking lighting, combined with the lightning and darkness outside, gave the impression of him moving around like a broken movie, skipping every other frame. It was very disorienting.

"Well Red, are we gonna dance or what?"

"I think you need a time out!" Blossom took a deep breath, felt the tingle at the base of her throat that was her special power, and exhaled. Blue crystals sparkled in the air, as the entire room froze over in a layer of ice. Blossom felt a shiver, and realized that she had a small layer of frozen ice around her.

"Woah! Instant ice rink!" A voice yelled from above, and Boomer smashed down through the ceiling. He watched, amused, while Blossom flexed her arms and legs, breaking through the rainwater that had been on her and subsequently frozen.

"How did...?"

"Well, the BIG, DEEP breath you took kinda helped tip me off," Boomer said, floating off the frozen floor of the ruined room. "Not as much as the look on your face that screamed..." He forced his voice really high and girlish. "I think I'll use my ice breath and freeze this no good Rowdyruff loudmouth, and I bet he won't see it coming either!"

Blossom gritted her teeth.

"What? No witty comebacks, Little Miss Obvious?" Boomer charged this time, but cautiously, throwing his punches almost half-heartedly. "No snappy one liners? Not even a scream of impotent rage?"

"Shut UP!" Blossom kicked, high, catching Boomer in the chin. He flew back, and she was on him, kicking and punching. She hadn't been this angry in what seemed like forever. Boomer took the blows, and countered with his own, much more seriously this time.

"What's the matter, Red?" He scored a sound blow to her jaw, sending her through a wall and into a blue tiled bathroom. She kicked up as he raced after her, sending him two floors up and into a closet full of dresses. She followed after him amid the tangle of clothes, and they blasted through the closed wooden door through a shocked Townsvillian's bedroom and into a kitchen, trading blows.

"Why so silent?" Boomer slammed a fist into her stomach. "Brick said you were the talkative one!" He planted an uppercut onto the base of her jaw. "Can't you fight and recite the party line at the same time?" He tried a quick, shallow haymaker that she barely avoided. "You know, how the Powerpuff Girls never lose?" He leaned back, avoiding a retaliatory blow. "How you guys fight for love, justice, and short skirts?" As he fell backwards, he snap kicked out, catching her painfully on the arm. "The American way!" He rolled back, and lunged, arms crossed, pushing her back. "A kitten in every living room..." He slammed her into and through a wall, her back breaking several pieces of wooden supports. "A cheap import in every garage?!"

"I... said..." Blossom's eyes erupted in red death. "SHUT UP!!"

"WOAH!" Boomer jumped to the side, and Blossom followed him with her eyes as he ran around her, eye beams still firing. Suddenly, like a distant memory, she remembered that they were fighting in an apartment complex, and that her beams had just leveled the entire floor and started a massive fire.

"Nice shots there, Red." He said from her side. "I couldn't have started a nicer high rise fire if I tried!"

Ignoring him, she plowed into the inferno, blowing all around her, ice breath smothering patched of flame isolated in decimated rooms. As she looked around, floating in the last room, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hey, Red!" Boomer floated by her, slowly, and pointed to a far section of the building, visible through exposed wooden and metal supports... creaking and mending and breaking metal and wooden supports. "You think it's supposed to do that?"

"Oh no!" Blossom shot out to the edge of the collapsing floor, found a solid spot where a large metal beam had been, and held it up. The creaking and groaning stopped, and she started looking around desperately for a way to hold the above four or five floors up. As she did, Boomer casually walked up in front of her.

"Yo," he said, finally, after looking at her for a few seconds. "Holding up the ceiling, eh?"

She didn't reply.

"Yep. That's what I thought. Sure wish I had a feather or somethin,' that'd be hilarious!"

She growled, deep in her throat.

"Almost as hilarious as you doing all this damage in the first place."

Her left eye twitched.

"See, I'd feel kinda guilty about it, if I were you."

"I seem to recall you boys demolishing a building or two in our last fight." She smirked at him.

"I didn't," He calmly replied. "Now... what to do with you? Butch would probably just pound your guts out your mouth... like he's probably doing to your sister... Brick would blast ya' a few times, just for giggles..."

"Why don't... why don't you help me?" Blossom saw him blink in confusion. "You're right. You didn't do anything... too terrible last time. And it's not too late to do the right thing now."

"Gee. I dunno." He intoned, sarcastically. "Do I get to be the purple Powerpuff if I join up?"

Blossom's eyes narrowed.

"Then again, maybe I'd look better in plain ol' white, what do you think?" Boomer continued, still smiling. "Do you Girls have a health plan? Signing bonus?"

She started to take a deep breath, and he quickly shot forward, clamping his hand on her mouth, forcing it closed. He shook his other hand at her. "Now that was just silly, Red! You can't... YEOWCH!"

Biting down with all her might, as soon as he pulled his hand back, she blew. Boomer's eyes widened at her, his smile gone and replaced by a look of anger and a grimace of pain. Blossom directed her ice breath perfectly, first freezing the Rowdyruff, then the floor, layering it over and over, from both the ceiling and the ground, until they reached. Slowly backing off, she added more, freezing the entire corner of the building and holding it in place.

Blossom, back in the rain, allowed herself a quick laugh. "Cold enough for ya?"

"Whould'ya look at that?"

Blossom whirled on the voice. Butch and Brick were both hovering silently in the air. The black haired Rowdyruff was holding Bubbles by her hair, while Brick had Buttercup, unconscious, over his shoulder.

"No..." Brick held up his hand. "Not that." He slowly raised his hand to his face. "This!"

Blossom was bathed in red light, overwhelming in intensity, unending in barrage, from both of the brothers' ruff. Before she blacked out, the last thing she heard was the two Rowdyruff Boys: laughing.

* * *

Blossom opened her eyes, blinked them a few times, and realized where she was. It was obvious enough - she was in her cell. Like she had been for days. It was dark, so dark she could barely see her hands in front of her face, and she had no idea what the time was. No idea what day it was. There was no concept of day and night, except when the Brick came and fed her, calling it 'dinner.' It was the only meal of the day, and she had no idea whether it was actually dinner, or breakfast, or... it was all the same, and yet different.

The darkness and confinement was maddening, and it left nothing to do except think and plan and sleep and brood. She knew her sisters were alive, or suspected it. Brick had said so before, and she couldn't think of why he'd lie about it. The first few days, he'd told her that he was just keeping them alive for a day or two so Mojo could finish his book on 'Traditional Vietnamese Interrogation Techniques' and build his 'Bigger, Better Powerpuff Torture Device Millennium Edition.'

Idly, Blossom slammed her fist against the cold walls that held her prisoner. They were unbreakable; unmeltable... she'd even tried freezing them, to make the metal brittle, and then breaking them. For hours, she'd froze the wall, then blasted it, then froze it, then blasted it, trying to weaken it until her throat hurt. It was a no go. Brick had even laughed at her when he saw all the dirty water on the floor, and deduced what she had been doing. He then assured her that he'd have done the same thing and that he would've killed her if he knew it would work.

That same day, she'd attacked him and tried to make a run for it.

Unfortunately, she was still hungry and weak and wasn't near 100, and he was in peak condition. After only a brief struggle, he'd subdued her, admonished her like a child (which was ironic, in afterthought), and then left, taking her 'dinner' - a bagel and a piece of bread - with him. He left the paper cup with water, however, which made the increasing dryness in her throat go away for a few hours, at least.

Closing her eyes, she groaned.

She wanted to smell fresh air. She wanted to see open blue skies and rich green grass. She wanted to taste the Professor's cooking, instead of Mojo's table scraps. She wanted to feel something that wasn't hard, cold, uncaring metal. She wanted to hear her sister's voice. She wanted to hear anyone's voice, see anyone's face, even Brick's. Even his brothers.

She actually found herself looking forward to when Brick came with the food.

Not only did it alleviate the hunger and thirst she constantly felt, but also he was, at least, small company. He talked to her, and while his tone was bitter and almost always coldly mocking, and while he more often pointed out her failings and questioned her beliefs, at lest he wasn't trying to kill her. At least she wasn't alone, in the dark. Blossom thought, then, of her sisters. Bubbles would be miserable, and Buttercup... beaten and locked up, she would need comfort most of all.

This was, she knew, killing them.

Not quickly, not even slowly and painfully, but it was a sort of decay. She could feel herself, everything she thought about herself, and everything she had ever been, falling apart at the seams. Her only permanent company was her own voice, her own inner demons. Every disappointment - every setback, every failure - revisited mentally a thousand times a day and transcribed before her.

Worse than the moral lapses she had had over the months... those were disappointments because she failed herself, failed to be the standard she set others to, so much worse than those had been when she let down the team. In her mind she recounted them, she saw again all the times Mojo had came SOO close to destroying them, when only outside intervention and the grace of Providence saved them. Every one of those was a failure and a black mark against her, personally, as a leader. Then there were the monsters that they couldn't defeat - everything from Elmer's Paste-Monster body to that Big Orange Monster and the Slime Creature that wanted its Cat. True, things had turned out well enough in the end (Elmer had been cured, the Orange Monster had left without a fuss, and the Slime creature had found its cat), but they had still ultimately been failures in that she had committed herself and the team to their defeat, and failed to achieve that aim. Every strategy, every enemy, had a weakness, and she hadn't seen it in time to bring home the win.

Blossom sat in the darkness, trying desperately to get comfortable on the hardened cot. She wanted to sleep. She needed to sleep. She didn't question herself in her sleep, only remembered the failures. Better just to go through them again than to be analyzed for them, and rebuffed for it over and over. Better to try and just slip into an unconscious, mindless stupor. Better to die, maybe. A nice dreamless sleep was her goal.

Her unreachable goal.

Maybe she could ask Brick to knock her unconscious; she doubted he'd mind.

She heard the Professor's voice, damning her.

"You should have known what he was thinking! It was so obvious!"

She heard Buttercup, laughing at her.

"Some leader! Outwitted by a boy only a few days old! Even I could do better than that!"

She head Bubbles, not angry, just disappointed.

"He hurt me so bad, Blossom... why didn't you help me... why didn't you think of something..."

Boomer.

"News flash! She's an idiot, that's why!"

The Mayor

"Yeah. An idiot! Maybe you'll be Mayor someday!"

Ms. Bellum.

"You can't win all the time... but a hero doesn't lose when everything is on the line."

Brick.

"Don't feel bad, Bloss. Maybe it's for the best. The new always replaces the old."

Herself.

"At least we've lost for the last time..."

Without warning, there was light. After a second, she heard the bars to her cell open. Rolling on her side, eyes still blinking from the light, she saw Brick. He looked like he'd just gone through a meat grinder, and somehow survived.

"Get up." His eyes were chips of red rubies, emotionless and cold, but there was a desperation... even fear, to his voice. "Townsville needs you."

It was May 4th.


	5. Gauntlet: Crucible part 5

Like a good communist, I own nothing.

* * *

"Gauntlet: Crucible"  
Part 5

* * *

April 30

I wasn't strong enough, and I don't mean when it comes to muscles. I still think I could have won, but I lost my head... lost control. Of everything. God, Blossom was right. Bubbles, too. And now it's too late for any of us...

Buttercup.

The rain beat down mercilessly on Townsville, drenching everything. It was terrible weather to do anything in. It reminded her of that rainy day when they had pretended to be the Powerpuff Girls, except this was far worse, or at least it seemed that way when one was in it. The wind howled like a wild animal, biting into the skin and eyes viciously. Buttercup would certainly never say so, but more than anything she wanted to be home, warm, comfortable.

Not this.

Wet and angry, she stood up and floated off the ground.

The black haired Rowdyruff was keeping quiet, preferring to look on and softly snicker at his brothers' mocking jokes. The blue one, Bubble's counterpart, held his hands up, his voice beyond sarcastic. "Golly, Brick, they're serious! Maybe we should all just sit down and talk this over like good little children."

The red one, the leader, squinted one eye and looked at Buttercup specifically. "NAH! Let's not and say we did! Boomer - have a little talk with pinkie here. Butch - take care of the little blonde, and do it quick. I'll take care of the tomboy. Like we planned. Don't let up for a second."

"Right," both boys said, as one, and charged at Buttercup's sisters. Brick himself just approached her, arms wide, as if expecting a hug. Or a kiss.

Buttercup growled.

He was mocking her.

She had charged at him before, and he'd easily avoided her - made her look like a fool in front of her sisters. Now he was disrespecting her in the middle of a fight. Buttercup spared a quick glance to see that Blossom and the blue Rowdyruff were trading blows experimentally, while the green one was advancing on an obviously wary Bubbles low to the ground.

"You want a fight?" Buttercup felt the song of battle fill her ears, drowning out the noise of the rain and battle. "YOU'VE GOT ONE!!"

She attacked like a Powerpuff possessed, not holding back even a fraction. She was punching with abandon, faster than ever before, but Brick was dealing with them easily, intercepting each one and tapping it aside with the back of his hands. Even her attempted uppercuts and midriff strikes were slapped away with contemptuous ease.

She felt them losing altitude as she attacked and he silently defended. They hit the ground and bounced off, when suddenly he reoriented himself, slipping low and grabbing her left leg. With a mighty heave, she lost control of flight and smashed into the wet concrete that clapped like thunder from the blow. Taking a few steps back from the point of impact, he looked on passively as she jumped back to her feet.

She pointed at him, growing angry at his silence. He'd been talking before, and now he wasn't saying a word. "You didn't think that'd put me down, did you?"

"Of course not." He paused. "You're the tough Powerpuff, right?"

"I AM!" She shot forward, like a bullet, into a flying kick. He shifted his stance so his side was to her, and his hand came down in an axechop as she passed by, missing him entirely. She hit the ground again with a wet splash and slid, again, a dozen feet.

Incensed, she roared and charged again, but stopped short at the last second and fired her eye beams, trying to catch him by surprise. His expression didn't change, but this time she forced him to move, hastily, as he saw the telltale signs of glowing in her eyes. He jumped to the side, avoiding the beams and responding with two of his own. They circled each other as top speed, firing and dodging and weaving and jumping and tumbling in air, crimson beams devastating the street around them, blowing up craters and street signs and cars in equal measure.

"Try this on for size!" She then rubbed her hands together, and tossed a ball of fire at him. He seemed genuinely amazed at it, and jumped high into the air as it slammed into the ground at his feet.

"Ha! Try another!" She launched after him, and started rubbing her hands together again, generating friction for the attack. No sooner did it form in her hands, however, did a lance of red energy hit it - one of Brick's eye beams - causing it to explode less than a foot from her body. Falling to the ground from the impact, she looked up, and with every fiber of her being MOVED.

Rolling to the side, a titanic pillar of red light slammed into where she'd just landed, leaving a perfectly circular hole in the street. High above, the red Rowdyruff looked on silently, a small smile on his face, eyes smoking from the discharge of the blast. It had been far more powerful than a normal one - Buttercup guessed that he'd somehow started charging its energy beforehand. But that didn't make much sense: charging up eyebeams nearly blinded her when she tried it. Standing, her fists balled, Buttercup blasted up until she was face to face with him.

"Well," she said, confidence keeping her tone steady. "At least you don't completely suck."

Brick said nothing, refusing the compliment.

"What' wrong, jerk? Nothing to say?"

"Nothing that needs saying, no," he said, and cocked his head. "Tell me. Are you ALL bluff and bluster?"

"Why you..." She shot her hands forward, and green energy erupted from her arms. "EAT IT!"

"Woah, that's new!" He dodged the blasts with increasing difficulty. Arms splayed wide, he suddenly stopped flying, and moved into reverse, stopping just shot of a building. Buttercup snarled and kept attacking, pressing the advantage. As Brick dodged, she started blasting chunks out of the building behind him.

"Do you like causing all this property damage?" He called out, as he moved.

Buttercup gasped, realizing what she was doing. It was only a moment's hesitation, but it was more than enough. Before she knew what was going on, Brick was in her face.

"Wish we had a woodshed..." He plowed an elbow into her face as he moved past her, kneed up into the base of her spine, and double fisted her in the chest. The attack was so smooth, she couldn't even contemplate a counter, and the green Powerpuff found herself almost grateful when she hit the ground with a thunderous crash. Getting to her feet, more slowly than before, she saw Brick land right next to her.

"That thing with your hands is very impressive," He stated, neutrally. "I hadn't thought of it, myself."

"Yeah?" Buttercup held out her hands, felt them charge with energy. Brick held his own arms out as well, and they both fired. Green and red blasts met, and in an appropriate puff of smoke, canceled out. He looked down at his hands in surprise.

"What a waste of energy..." Looking up, he settled one leg back. Again, he widened his arms, one forward, and one to the side. "How about doing this old school?"

Buttercup's rational mind screamed not to, but her pride, and her instincts, won out against reason. Like they always did. She had fought him hand to hand before, and gotten nowhere. He countered every attack, no matter how fast she threw them. It dawned on her that he was using a passive form of combat to counter her own self-taught ultra-aggressive tendencies. She had no strategy to get around this. She had no plan beyond attack.

Brick received her with silent determination.

Punch after punch was slapped aside. Kicks were avoided, or worse, turned into body blows and throws. As they danced and moved and warred, the ground beneath them became nothing more than rubble, as Buttercup hit the ground again and again and again. Brick barely attacked, waiting and defending until she exposed herself, at which point he would strike like a viper, in a hailstorm of snap kicks, body and throat strikes and elbows across her entire body. Amid the pouring rain, he was like water, like a liquid, moving and avoiding and hitting with impunity.

It only fed her rage. She remembered how Princess had defeated her with similar ease, only to be beaten by Blossom a minute later. Buttercup had trained herself hard after that, to be stronger than any attempted block, and faster than Princess could ever be. But her speed was nothing special to Brick, and his strength was at least a match for her own.

He had wanted to fight her, because he knew he would win. Buttercup didn't like to think about plans or tactics - she couldn't compete with Blossom in that department so she didn't try anymore - it was all starting to make sense. He, like Blossom, was a 'smart' fighter, only committing when he had a plan. The black-haired ruff, Buttercup's counterpart, had been sent after Bubbles because that was the most uneven match up, and it would be the quickest way to take Bubbles out. Buttercup herself knew that outright aggression was the best attack against her blonde sister.

Which left Brick to take her on, because his blue brother, if he was anything like Bubbles, would be at a disadvantage against Buttercup's aggressive style. Blossom would fight that boy, and she would do well, but she wouldn't press an attack without hesitation. She would plan and wait, and it would slow her down long enough for both her sisters to get beaten to a pulp. They had all been played perfectly, and the sudden attack and mocking had divided them and cut off any possibility of a counter plan on their part.

Against all resistance, Buttercup came to see that she had no chance. She began to see that he had drawn her in and used her own strength and determination against her, turned it into a pair of blinders that kept her from seeing and using what advantages she had over him. Stepping away from him, breathing heavily, she tried to think: tried to think of a plan, for once knowing she needed it, to save herself and her sisters. But... she was so tired. So exhausted. So weary.

"And now... the dance ends," Brick said, simply. There was no gloating to his voice, no ego. He was stating fact. Italy was a peninsula. The moon orbited the earth. She had lost.

It actually scared her.

"Do you feel it as I did?" He asked as he walked towards her, every step punctuated with a tiny splash of water. It dripped down his cap, soaked his shirt, and ran in rivulets over his face. "The chill touch of death?"

Rain.

Water.

She had a plan!

Bringing her hands together, she tried to remember what Blossom had done. It didn't work at first, as he steadily approached, but then she felt it. Lightning! Holding out her hand, beyond desperate, she directed it at the Rowdyruff leader.

"Let's see how you like THIS!" She pumped up the power, and it hit him full on. His eyes narrowed as the electricity pulsed through his body. His advance slowed, but it didn't stop. Steam began to rise from his form, and the ground crackled and fizzled as he walked.

"Too little. Too late." He was in front of her, and like lightning of his own, he struck. Buttercup couldn't tell whether it was a punch or a kick, only that it hurt, and then she was in the air. Forcing her eyes open, she saw Brick, waiting in midair, one hand drawn back. A rust red column of energy slammed into her, and she saw stars, as she slammed down into and through a parked truck, and down into and through the street, though who knew how many water mains and electrical wires, before mercifully hitting the hard tile floor of a subway terminal.

The stars remained, but she could still see through bleary eyes. Above, slowly descending, Brick landed at her feet. His arms were at his sides, and with a soft drip-drip noise, bits of rainwater coagulated at the edge of his backwards worn cap, before hitting the ground. He just stood there, watching her, no trace of mercy in his eyes. He slowly reached down for her with one hand, and she couldn't help but wince.

His hand paused at the side of her face.

"Should I kill you now? Break your neck, maybe?" He asked, though he couldn't be seriously curious. She had no doubt he was about to do what she had done to his brother, though in far less spectacular a fashion. "Do you want to die, little girl?"

She tried to narrow her eyes.

"Is that a yes?" He slowly stood up, hand leaving her cheek. He looked around, and kicked her clear across the terminal. She hit a wall and fell to the ground, something hard and metallic hurting her left leg. She managed a look, and saw it was a subway track.

Brick floated over her.

"You'll die here. Not in battle. Not gloriously." His tone was so casual, so horribly casual. "But... squashed like a bug hitting a windshield."

She forced back tears. Everything was so dark. Everything hurt. ...But she didn't want to die. Above her, he slowly started to lower, closer and closer. Maybe, she hoped, he would kill her himself.

"Do you want to die?" He asked, again.

She tried not to shake her head: no.

"Do you want to die...? He asked again, more slowly.

Buttercup bit her lower lip. Desperately, against her will, and yet a surprising part of it, a strangled "no" escaped her lips. Brick smiled, then, and it was the last thing she saw before his eyes flared a bright ruby red.

"Good."

* * *

"Hey!" The Green Rowdyruff grabbed her by the shoulders, roughly, slamming her face into the hard metal of her cell. "What the HELL were you thinking?"

She gave an angry snarl and tried to get free, but he was too strong.

She was too weak.

"Stupid move!" He slammed her into the metal again, hard. "I come ta bring ya somethin' to eat, and what'da'ya' do? Ya attack me!" He slammed her into the wall again, she felt like blacking out. "Ya goddamn BITE me! You're lucky I don't just kill ya here and now!"

"Go on!" She urged him on. "DO IT!" Just like this. A few more, and her skull would crack like a cheap ceramic mug. "COME ON!"

"Don't..." He leaned in closer, whispered in her ear (where her ear would be). "Don't tempt me. I ain't in a good mood."

"You..." She struggled to take a breath. "You don't have the...balls..."

His hands tensed, almost crushing her shoulders into jelly.

She could feel it about to happen.

"Blossom... Bubbles... here I come..." She thought, softly, wistfully.

"Gah!" With a snort of disgust, he let her go, tossing her to the floor. With a truly angry look, bordering on totally enraged, he tossed the contents of the brown bag he had brought with him at her. A flurry of lukewarm French fries hit her in the face, while Butch struggled to keep his boiling rage at bay.

"Don't you... EVER... screw with me again!" He said, in a low... fell voice. "I'll snap you like a cheap plastic toy and not give it a second thought!"

He slammed the bars behind him, turned on the energy shield, and left.

Buttercup stewed in her cell.

Her sisters weren't dead.

They weren't.

She reminded herself of that. Constantly. It was the only way to keep her fears at bay. She had, in what seemed like a distant past, wanted to be alone. She had hated how Blossom, ever the leader, ever the great student and guide, had gotten so much appreciation and love for her efforts. She had hated how Bubbles, so full of innocent joy, always needing attention, had received that attention and that love. Where did that leave Buttercup?

Alone.

Blossom was a doll.

Bubbles was a plushie.

Buttercup was an action figure.

She was the tough one. She was the strong one. The vicious one. The proud one. She hated dolls... Blossom's dolls. She hated plushies... Bubble's plushies. She hadn't imagined how much she would miss them. How much she would need them.

In the end, her strength had come to nothing.

Brick had dismissed her hardest, fastest blows with casual contempt, not because he was stronger or faster, but because he had kept his cool and known what he was doing beforehand. Worse, the point was now so cruelly driven home: There WAS always someone stronger. Butch had overpowered her, despite her determination and furiousity and force of will.

She fought to prove herself the strongest there was.

Both to herself and to others.

And yet every success had been a failure. The jealousy and insecurity remained, no matter how many layers of anger and physical might she tried to cover it up with. Now, in this dark little cell, immersed in nothingness, she had come to that realization too late. Why did she always realize these things too damn late? Just like with Ace...

* * *

"Hey, green-eyes! Wake up!"

She slowly, reluctantly, opened her eyes. Butch was standing over her. Green eyes, she was so glad to see. Not Red. Not Brick.

"Feeding time already?" She managed to say, sparing a quick humorless laugh.

Butch seemed to think about it.

"If you want," He said, after a bit. "We... um... sort of have a bit of a crisis. Some ass needs kickin,' and any help would be appreciated."

"After... after everything... You expect..." She gulped, and turned on the cot, gradually putting her feet down.

"Yeah. Basically," He answered.

Buttercup reached for her anger. Reached for her rage and indignation... and came up empty. She wasn't mad at him. She didn't hate him. Amazingly, she didn't even hate Brick. Her own pride, her own stupid stubborn impulsiveness had gotten her into this mess. Butch... he hadn't killed her. He had the chance, he had every reason and motivation to do to her what she had done to him, and yet, somehow, someway, she had lived.

And now, he was setting her free.

He wanted her help.

She looked up into his eyes, and saw the deep well of bitterness. The anger. Not at others, but at himself. She recognized it so well she wanted to reach for it in those dark emerald pools. The anger was more comfortable a cloak than the truth. Standing up, she looked down at herself.

"Is there time for a change of clothes?" She winced. "Even a bath doesn't sound too bad, right now."

He crossed his arms and smirked. "Mojo's got tons of fancy perfumed bath soaps... you'll have to ask him."

It was May 4th.


	6. Gauntlet: Crucible part 6

Like a good communist, I own nothing.

* * *

"Gauntlet: Crucible"  
Part 6

* * *

May 4.

I feel sorry for them. I know Boomer wouldn't like it if I told him that, so I keep quiet. Boomer is always so angry, and he doesn't want anyone to see it. It's eating him up. I don't know much about his brothers, except what he told me and what I sort of saw. Butch was so mean, but he's like Buttercup: scared. And Brick, I feel the most sorry for him. He's so... dead inside, like he never really came back to life. Was what we did to them so horrible?

Bubbles.

Bubbles rarely thought of the fight.

It had been over very quickly, it seemed. Originally, she had found it odd that she had been directly paired off with the toughest, meanest Rowdyruff. She had expected to fight Boomer. Instead, Butch had come at her with all the subtlety and finesse of a hurricane. Bubbles wasn't an idiot. She had been in enough fights to know how to handle herself, and when it came to Butch, distance was her friend.

If only it had been that easy.

He had overcome her like the wind, and grabbed onto her head. She spent the next few minutes looking at his hands, his forehead (painful headbutts), several different brick walls, half the main street thoroughfare, and a couple other objects: A mailbox, a telephone pole, a couple signs, a fire hydrant (that had really hurt) and a bunch of cars. In retrospect, after seeing Butch snarling like an angry bear woken after a few week's peaceful hibernation, getting smashed around wasn't to terrible. At least nothing had been broken.

And she was alive.

No, her defeat hadn't really bothered Bubbles.

It was when she had woken up, and everything was still dark, that she had panicked. The last time the Rowdyruff Boys had wailed on her, she had looked up and seen, aside from a massive ditch that she was lying in, the grieving people of Townsville. This time there was no one.

In the night, she saw all the monsters that had plagued Townsville.

And new ones.

Horrible ones that gave the others pause, and even fear.

They danced on the edge, on the periphery, of her vision and her imagination. She had seen what looked like a square and a circle, floating over the planet... a monster, a shark, with a million pearly teeth and no eyes, a hunchbacked creature spawning a trillion ravenous young, too small to see, yet eating everything... there was a massive spider, all legs, straddling the entire city. Then, worse than all the others combined, a creeping feeling, all across her skin - another one of the THEM, trying to get inside her. To BE her. That one was the most terrifying, and when it inevitably came, she screamed long and loud, all into the night, until her throat was dry, or until she felt the light touch her skin, burning it away and back into the nether.

Those four days had been horrific beyond Bubble's capacity to describe.

But she kept quiet.

She always kept quiet when it came to things like this.

If she told Boomer, he might not visit her, and she wouldn't like that. He brought the light. And deep down in him, hidden and twisted, she saw something like herself. Boomer loved the dark and the night. It invigorated him. It hid him from himself.

Bubbles opened her eyes, not feeling sleepy or tired.

A soft glow, faint but present, came from a single candle on the floor.

It was a little blue birthday candle, the kind stuck into cakes. Boomer had returned, late at night, the very day she had asked for it, and given it to her. There was a softness there that he quickly hid, quickly shrouded. She had asked him if he wanted to talk to her, and he had hid his excitement at the opportunity. Bubbles didn't say much to him, but she listened.

She did a lot of that.

She had, however, asked some more about her sisters. Bubbles was worried for them, especially Buttercup. Buttercup wasn't like Bubbles - she didn't have faith or belief in what she couldn't see and feel and know. She didn't grasp the intangibles. Blossom wasn't much better. She tried to rationalize everything, and over examined herself and others. She had probably spend the last ...week or so (Bubbles figured) blaming herself, like she tended to do when no one else was around. Bubbles hoped that Brick was kind to her, but she doubted the red Rowdyruff still possessed that trait.

She heard footsteps, and knowing who it was, looked on as Boomer paused at the bars separating Bubbles from freedom. With hardly a look to the side, he turned off the energy grid, and opened the bars. With a grin, he tossed her something small and blue. She caught it in midair.

It was a comb.

"Hey," He said, in an experimental tone. "You in the mood for saving the world... or what?"

She looked down at the comb, then back at him.

"I am now," She said, clutching it tightly. Then, to his obvious shock and even horror, she smiled at him.

He looked over his shoulder, avoiding her.

"Good! Let's go!" He marched off, and didn't look back.

* * *

"Blossom! Bubbles!"

"Buttercup! Blossom!"

"Bubbles! Buttercup!"

"Ohmygoditssogoodtoseeyouareyouokitwassodarkand..."

Brick, Boomer, and Butch frowned at each other as the three girls embraced and jumped up and down, showing far more energy than they had since... They just frowned. Butch and Boomer, specifically, were slightly nervous. Brick, however, was confident: both in himself, his plans, and them. That confidence seeped through his gaze, and Butch and Boomer relaxed slightly.

They were in the middle of Mojo's Observatory, in the wide-open area that Mojo normally used for (lame) traps and as a sort of weapon's testing range. Presently, only a small projector lay in the middle of the room. Mojo Jojo himself was at one of the corners, watching the assembled event with a most displeased look to him. He had been furious at Brick, and for a few tense seconds, Boomer had thought that they would come to blows before they came to an agreement. Mojo backed down, warily, however, and let Brick have his way. The blue Rowdyruff had no doubt that Mojo was hoping Brick would fail.

Again.

The rift between favored son and father had only widened over the last few days. Things were about to go from bad to worse... provided they even survived the next few hours. Near the center of the place, the reunited Powerpuff Girls were still hugging and celebrating with each other. It was something Boomer felt very uncomfortable watching.

Why weren't they attacking them?

Why were they helping?

He looked to Brick, the leader, the planner... the schemer. The red ruff didn't look surprised at all. Instead, he had his 'game face' on: a cold and calculating look to him. It was comforting, in a way, because Boomer trusted Brick explicitly, and so did Butch, but it was slightly unnerving, too, in a totally different way. Brick hadn't gotten really angry since the first fight with the Powerpuff Girls, when his assumption of them (as sissies that would give up after a single blow) had been shattered. Now, if Brick raised his voice, he was simply to get a point across and demand attention, not because he was actually venting.

It was ...troubling.

After a few uncomfortable minutes, the girls settled down somewhat. Blossom, naturally, was the first to return to the situation at hand. She looked at Mojo, briefly, before facing Brick. She obviously knew where the authority in the room was, and Boomer noted that her dismissal of the mad genius had only deepened his scowl. Still, Boomer supposed, better to cut through the diplomatic bull and deal with Brick directly than to endanger all their lives just to appease Mojo's ego.

"Ok," she said, with much of her old confidence back, hands on her hips. "What's the big deal? Monster, right?"

"No need for queue cards with this one." Brick smiled, despite the trace of annoyance in his tone. He looked ...off without his hat. The bandages around his head were a poor substitute, though fashion conscious as always, Brick had tied an extra bit of the white wrap about his temple, like a bandanna, so it hung loose and long over his right shoulder.

"All right," Brick began, and walked up to the display in the center of the room. He tapped a button, and the first slide activated: a holographic image resolved in the air. It was a picture of a perfect sphere, all black, with no openings, moving over the water without causing a ripple.

"Three hours ago, this... creature... was sighted by a naval reconnaissance EP-3E Aries II..." Brick noticed Bubbles total incomprehension. Buttercup was nodding, however. "...An airplane, basically. As you may or may not know, the military maintains a number of sonar probes around the approaches to Townsville from where most monsters come."

"You mean Monster Island." Blossom interjected.

"Yes. This one was not detected however..."

Boomer frowned a bit as Brick said that last part. Their leader had somehow known beforehand that something was approaching. Boomer knew about the sonar system, and the orbiting satellites that monitored Monster Island, but neither had detected this one. Boomer shook his head, dismissing his cynicism. Maybe Brick had a new power, or really good hunches, or something like that. It could also be nothing. A good guess on his part.

"...It entered the Townville area, via the docks, two hours ago," Brick continued. Another picture appeared: the floating orb over the docks. "As per Standard Procedure, the military held off making an attack on it to give the resident... superheroes a crack at it first. Professional courtesy, I suppose."

He pressed the button again. "We moved to intercept it..."

Boomer winced at the picture that appeared. The black orb was still floating, this time over the boardwalk next to the docks, and there was an extremely thin fuzzy white beam coming out of its smooth surface. It passed cleanly through several buildings, leaving wide, molten, circular holes in them, hitting something next to Mojo's Observatory, in midair, and passing off into the horizon.

"To little effect." Brick closed his eyes. "We were attacked less than a second after leaving the building. The beam from it only nicked me... I have little doubt that a full on shot would have melted right through."

Buttercup looked fiercely at the holographic picture.

"An untouchable enemy?" She grinned. "We faced something like that. ...With eyes."

"This one doesn't have eyes." Bubbles said the obvious.

Buttercup's grin faded.

"Has it attacked the city?" Blossom asked.

"No." Brick said, slowly. "But, as I was about to say, we soon discovered that things were about to get much worse. Pops... Mojo's sensors performed an exhaustive scan of the creature, and detected an energy buildup within it, of an unknown origin."

"What sort of energy build up are we looking at?" Blossom asked, the obvious danger and urgency of the situation both exciting and challenging her: a chance at redemption, perhaps. For once, she and Brick were thinking the same thing.

"Roughly," Mojo answered, and continued with unusual succinctness. "Eight point four times ten to the twenty two joules, delivered over one millisecond. Roughly equivalent to twenty thousand gigatons of explosive force and an unknown fraction of thermal radiation."

There was silence.

"That's a lot, right?" Bubbles asked, breaking the tension.

"Needless to say," Brick coughed to clear his throat. "This is more than enough to completely annihilate Townsville, and ...everything nearby. I don't think the effects of the explosion need to be gone into in detail."

Blossom looked at Buttercup and Bubbles. "I agree."

"One hour and forty minutes ago, after numerous helicopters and civilian planes had been shot down, three life size replicas of us were launched... thrown... from the Observatory as an experiment," Brick pressed another button. Another picture of the black orb replaced the last one, this time blasting one of the flying dummy-Rowdyruffs (The blue one) in midair. Brick pressed the button again. Another picture, this one of the orb blasting the red psudo-Rowdyruff. A few feet away, the blue one was a flaming cloud. Click. Another picture of the green one being destroyed next to the (formerly) red one... the blue one was a dispersing mist.

"This led to some good news, and some bad news. The good news is that it can only fire one beam at a time. The bad news is that it has a very high rate of fire. Attacking in numbers, and from different angles, will have no positive impact. However... every blast does slow the accumulation of energy, meaning that the weapon and the... bomb inside it share a power source. Mojo's initial estimate gave us only four hours before it achieved a sort of critical mass. We have stretched that to seven." Brick noted that no one looked impressed. "...And twenty minutes." He added. No effect.

"Er..." Buttercup said something. "Why isn't it attacking us, now? It can obviously shoot through buildings and stuff."

"It only fires at threats." Brick pressed the button again. He was getting to that himself. The display showed a camouflaged mobile missile battery, far outside the city. Brick pressed the button again, this time of the missiles starting to launch. Then again, to the picture of a lance of white light immolating the entire launcher. Then to a picture of an oblique flaming crater.

"Additional good news is that the weapon is light of sight only..." Brick put up another picture, this one of two Navy battleships, firing with relative impunity. "Those sixteen inch rocket-propelled shells are beyond visual range weapons, meaning they fire over the horizon in an arc. They are keeping up a constant accurate barrage towards Townsville, where the creature has stopped, and is fully engaged in destroying the volleys of shells as they approach it. This is what is buying us time."

"Why here?" Bubbles said, somewhat angry at the whole situation. She was frowning at the black orb hanging over Townsville.

"I don't know..." Brick said, and set it sink in. "No one does. This is not normal behavior, which leads some - myself and Mojo included - to doubt that this came from Monster Island. We have... also consulted with your Professor, albeit reluctantly."

"Why reluctantly? The Professor is a genius!" Blossom looked at Mojo.

"Don't blame him. The Professor thinks we killed you. Naturally, he would sour at a cooperative effort," Brick answered very smoothly. Boomer got the odd feeling that the little speech was rehearsed. Brick clicked the projector one more time, bringing up an overhead map of Townsville, and the location of the black orb, over a relatively level and nondescript part of the city.

"That's it. Any suggestions would be of great help. We have a six-hour deadline. That's enough time to visit your Professor, take a bath, get something to eat... do whatever you need to do." Brick didn't add: 'make peace' but it was implied.

"So that's why we're free to go." Buttercup crossed her arms and 'hmfed.'

"We'll meet again in an hour," Blossom said, firmly.

Brick slowly smiled at that. "So you'll be coming back, then?"

"Of course!" Blossom nodded. "Townsville needs us!"

"Couldn't have said it better myself." Brick turned to Butch and Boomer. "Let's go. By the way, girls, you can walk around without a problem. But I wouldn't advise flying anywhere."

"Better make that two hours, then," Blossom grumbled. The boys quickly left, and Mojo went with them, still silent and brooding. Bubbles just looked up at the projection, still visibly angry. This wasn't a monster out to just destroy Townsville, or challenge them personally. It was going to kill itself, and destroy everything. People, animals, plants... Bubbles found herself hating the black thing that she hadn't even seen with her own eyes. It was a new feeling that she really wasn't happy with.

"So you think they'll be back? Butch asked, as they walked.

"The Girls?" Brick laughed. "Oh, they'll be back. You couldn't stop Blossom from trying to take this thing on... and I'd wager Buttercup wants a piece of the glory, too."

"Even after all we did to them?"

"Oh yes. After that, and all they did to themselves." Brick looked behind them, making sure Mojo wasn't still following. "They're still the Powerpuff Girls. I wouldn't have them any other way. Only now... after this... I'm confident they'll prove more malleable than before."

"What about Bubbles?" Boomer asked.

"What about her? She'll follow her sisters." Brick faced forward while he talked. "I'm sure of it."

"You've got it all worked out, huh?" Boomer forced his tone into the ultra-sarcasm range.

"Most of it, yes," Brick responded with a laugh.

"So... what are we going to do now?" Butch spoke up. Where was Brick leading them?

"Right now..." Brick looked down at his right hand and formed it into a fist. "I'm going to pray. 'Cause we're probably going to need every scrap of help we can get."

* * *

Professor Jonathan Utonium was not a vengeful man.

He was also not a happy man, presently, nor had he been for roughly a week. It had been five days since his girls had left to investigate a disturbance in Townsville that had sounded suspiciously like the Gangrene Gang. He had waited for them to come home that night, and to pass the time, and hopeful of catching a glimpse of his pride and joy at work, he had turned on the Late Night News.

He had been treated to a story covering the defeat and disappearance of the Powerpuff Girls at the hands of three assailants, identified as the previously thought dead Rowdyruff Boys. Still, the Professor knew, the Girls could well handle most any situation, even one so precarious. Aside from alerting the already alerted authorities, he had little to contribute. The feelings of helplessness, however, were not unfamiliar, and he maintained the illusion that his Girls would eventually return, happy and triumphant.

They had not.

It was then that Professor Utonium's nature... shifted. He was not a vengeful man by nature, but there existed many who were. The Townsville police were afraid... afraid of Mojo Jojo, and afraid of the Rowdyruff Boys, and when the Rowdyruff's began to actively fight crime, the police were more than willing to accommodate them and overlook the crimes that the boys themselves committed. It was hardly surprising, from a rational standpoint. Better to live with an evil that you cannot defeat, than to fight it, foolishly, and die.

But through the eyes of a parent who had lost his children...

It was a betrayal.

The Girls had given too much, sacrificed too much, for Townsville to be... tossed away like a sack of garbage or replaced like an old appliance. They had been betrayed for convenience and cowardice. Yet, there were those who still loved the Girls, still OWED them for past debts. Some of these men and women knew how to fight, and if they chose to fight for vengeance against a band of murderers, who was he to sit by and not aid them?

Of course, they all failed.

Not one Rowdyruff Boy had fallen.

Not one had paid for what they did.

It was frustrating, and the Professor had no doubt it was something close and akin to how Mojo felt half the time. So, naturally, he had been a bit cranky when the mutated simian and his pack of jackals had made an audience of themselves, asking for his aid against the Townsville Threat-Of-The-Day. Fools! Did they think he wasn't aware of what was going on outside his Lab? Did they imagine that he had lost touch with all reality?

The Professor closed his eyes, squeezed them tightly shut.

He was working, working on what needed to be done. But he didn't want to look at the face. It was too... His ears caught the doorbell, muffled though the sound was by his earplugs. A frown on his features, he went upstairs and passed through the kitchen. On the way, his eyes caught an almost empty pack of coffin nails, and he quickly lit on up.

"This better not be you again, Smith!" He yelled at the door at the bell rang again. "Because if it is, you..."

He opened the door.

Blinking a few times, his cigarette hanging loosely to his lower lip, Professor Utonium seriously began to doubt his sanity. They were all there: worn, tired, obviously quite dirty, but... there. Just standing there. Looking at him. Reaching down, he waved a hand in front of the Blossom image. Amazingly, a small hand reached up and caught his. It felt... warm.

Alive.

"g... girls?" he gulped, his mouth dry. "This..."

"PROFESSOR!!" The jumped him all at once, and he ended up sprawled on the floor while they talked and hugged and kissed him all at once.

Can't be... real?

No.

It was real. Something deep inside, beyond instinct, screamed that it was. Tentatively, afraid that, like clouds, they would fall apart if touched, he embraced them. When he felt only them, not some ethereal cloud-stuff, his eyes began to water, and his embrace tightened into a life saving vice. For they had saved his life. They truly had.

"MY GIRLS!" He gasped, and held them to him.

He didn't care how this had happened.

He didn't care at all how.

Only that it did. Only that it had.

For the second time, he was the luckiest man on earth.

But knowing what he knew, he had to wonder: For how long?


	7. Gauntlet: Crucible part 7

Like a good communist, I own nothing.

* * *

"Gauntlet: Crucible"  
Part 7

* * *

May 4.

"You realize this plan is INSANE, don't you?!"

"Who are you calling insane, boy?!" Mojo's face was a twisted image of fury. "It is a brilliant plan! It is as fine and acceptable a course of action as a whelp like you is to ever see!!"

"You'll kill us all, you GOD DAMN MANIAC!! I won't commit to this... this... pathetic excuse for a plan! I won't!!" Brick was yelling now, his face starting to get red. On the sidelines, Boomer and Butch watched, torn and helpless.

"How DARE you address me in such a manner?!" Mojo howled, "I gave you LIFE!! I gave you DIRECTION!!"

"You... you pompous... overbearing... egotistical... MONKEY!!"

Boomer stood, shocked. Brick had never called Mojo a monkey, even in jest. He looked to Butch for some small measure of comfort. The raven Rowdyruff was standing, arms crossed, his face an angry frown. Anger. Butch's shield against the world. Boomer pushed his own emotions down, promising to deal with them later.

"MONKEY?!" Mojo took a step towards Brick. "SAY THAT AGAIN."

Brick stood, his body shaking, ready to explode.

"SAY IT, BOY!!"

"Monkey." Brick snarled. "MONKEY... MONKEY... FILTHY FLEARIDDEN MONKEY!!"

"I've... I've..." Mojo was short on words, stuttering for the first time. "I've had ENOUGH of you! I gave you life, and I CAN TAKE IT AWAY!! Do not forget who is in charge here!!"

"You are in charge of NOTHING without us! Without me!" Brick took a step forward himself, not willing to back down even an inch. "This is... just an opportunity to get rid of me! To kill me and by brothers! ADMIT IT! You're jealous of us! You always have been!!"

"I treated you like my own FLESH AND BLOOD!!"

"STOP IT!!" Boomer exploded, cutting the two off. He was trembling and unable to stop. "Just... stop it..."

Brick quickly deflated.

Mojo wasn't as slow to cool down. He was still breathing heavily, eyes flaring mad, upper lip curled revealing sharp teeth. With only a second's hesitation, he lashed out with a gloved fist, striking Brick against the jaw. The Rowdyruff leaned with the blow, but kept his footing. Mojo was still enraged.

"Never..." He said, slowly, every word carefully chosen and spoken. "Never speak up to me again."

Brick seethed, but said nothing.

"Do you understand me?" Mojo growled.

Brick nodded, slowly.

"You will watch your tone from now on." Mojo turned, long cape billowing. "We will use my plan, and my plan will succeed, because it is a brilliant plan, understood?"

Brick said nothing.

"I will not tolerate failure." Mojo walked off, shaking his sore hand.

Brick looked after him, eyes slowly following his creator's footsteps. Boomer and Butch approached warily. Never before had Brick looked so dangerous. Like a wild animal, caged for so many years, and finally given an opportunity to draw blood and raise hell.

"Brick... dude... you ok?" Boomer asked, one hand out. Brick looked fine, Mojo wasn't strong enough to do real damage, but there was a hint of a bruise.

"Yeah, man. Are ya...?" Butch echoed, but kept his arms crossed.

"I'm fine," Brick said quickly, and flinched when Boomer reached for him. He smirked, blinked, and seemed to be back to normal. "Great, even. We'll go with Mojo's plan... at least unless I come up with something..."

"We're back!"

Brick stopped, instantly, and his eyes darted to the open Observatory door.

"So you three actually showed. Good." Brick noticed they had the Professor with them. "Professor Utonium. ...A pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh."

"Likewise," The older man returned, wary.

Brick motioned for them to follow. "Come on. I'll explain this... plan we came up with just recently."

Blossom led the group, and they followed him deeper into one of Mojo's laboratories. On the way, he caught her looking at him: his face.

"What is it?" He challenged. "See something... interesting? Maybe I have a magic crack-head fairy on my shoulder? Is he dancing the 'macarena' again?!"

"No!" She quickly said, and looked away, rubbing her cheek.

Brick, in an obviously foul mood, led them to a chalkboard without another word. Roughly, he grabbed a piece of white chalk and started drawing. "This plan requires three things... four things, actually, if you include a lot of luck ...a major distraction beyond those we already have running, a shield, and a really, really big goddamn gun."

Bubbles gasped.

"Pardon the language." Brick continued without pause, drawing a rough outline of the city. "It had been determined that the best place to set up shop for a weapon would be the bluffs here, far outside the city, near Farmsville. By using the natural cover of the upwards curving bluff, roughly here, which we have scouted beforehand and labeled Bluff Extension 12C..."

"Can we call it Sunnyglade Bluff?" Bubbles asked.

"...Fine. Its codename is now Sunnyglade Bluff. Happy?"

"Yes!"

"..." Brick closed his eyes, concentrated on control, and continued. "By using the natural cover, we can construct a makeshift high tolerance shield within the earth of the bluff itself. We believe this hidden nature, and the fact that it is behind the bluff, will not be interpreted as a threat, and thus, not fired on."

"And the gun..." Blossom guessed the rest logically. "Will be built behind that. You'll then fire it through the earth of the bluff, in some sort of keyhole in the shield, and at the stationary target."

"Exactly!" Brick frowned, deeper. "However, the shot must be incredibly precise. A deviation of even one meter will mean failure to damage the living core of the target, and an immediate retaliation. Because of that, and the nature of what we believe the composition of the creature's core, we will be using an identical beam to that of the creature, replicated perfectly. Besides the obvious time constraints, the main problems are as follows...we have found no armor available that can stand up to the creature's beam for more than three, maybe four, seconds. Additionally, our current distraction, a military barrage, will result in a great deal of destruction and loss of life."

"Like I care too much about that," Brick bitterly thought.

"Finally, the beams must be powered by an incredibly compact and...unorthodox power source." He paused for effect. "Us."

"What?!" Buttercup blurted out. "Whatda'ya mean us?!"

"I mean us. The Powerpuff Girls. The Rowdyruff Boys. We will power the gun... combine our attacks and energy."

"Like using the Starburst Ray attack." Blossom explained for her sisters. "Or the Ferocious Fiery Feline."

"It is the only way to... hopefully... ensure a guaranteed one shot one kill," Brick finished.

"Won't that cause it to explode?" Blossom asked. It was a rational question. The same kind he would ask in her place.

"Yes," Brick answered, honestly. "There will still be an explosion. Energy cannot be just created and destroyed. We don't exactly know how it's..."

"Zero Point Energy," The Professor said, cutting him off in mid sentence. "But you are quite right. Energy cannot be destroyed. It won't magically go away because we don't want it."

"So we're still left with a continent shattering kaboom?" Butch stated, dryly.

"Yes." Brick looked down. "Essentially. However, if the plan is completed, implemented, and successful... quickly... the resulting explosion will be far less, and below that capable of causing a climate-changing kaboom, firestorm-starting kaboom, or a humanity-go-extinct level kaboom."

"Wonderful." Butch rolled his eyes. "Should we start playing 'It's the end of the world and I love it' when we do this thing?"

Brick stared at him long and hard.

"I... don't have a better plan." He rubbed his jaw. Butch and Boomer quickly looked away. Butch spat out a silent curse and stormed off. Boomer looked between his brothers, hesitated, and ran after Butch. Bubbles looked after them as they left, obviously worried. Buttercup was just scowling to herself. Blossom was deep in thought, but she didn't look optimistic.

"I may have something to help with that last problem." The Professor cupped his jaw, his mind racing. "Either way... this is what we have to go with. I take it Mojo's already gotten started."

Brick nodded.

"Then we'd best stick with it." The Professor sighed, warily. "You girls stay out of the way. You can't use your powers... even inside the building. I wouldn't risk it. Mojo and I will take care of this, and so will the people of Townsville and Farmsville. We don't have much time, so I want all of you to keep an eye on each other, and we'll take you to ...Sunnyglade Bluff when everything is nearly ready."

Brick almost cracked a smile.

"Father knows best, I suppose." His small smile disappeared as quickly as it came. He started to leave. "I've... got to find Boomer and Butch. You three: don't wreck the place. Some of us have to live here."

* * *

Blossom watched him grow, increasing trepidation in her heart.

Had he let them free, just so they could die?

Would she die for Townsville... for the world?

Yes. She had already decided the answer to that question long ago. Yes!

Boomer looked out, over the bluff, at the city of Townsville.

It felt good; the cool air of twilight. Soon it would be dark, and everything would be under it, like a soothing palm over the face on a hot day. Or, alternatively, they would all soon die. For Boomer, it wouldn't be the first time. A return to the bodiless pain of nonexistence, as he remembered it, wasn't something to look forward to. Instead, he focused on the darkness of the city, only highlighted by a few pinprick lights, all in fear of the silent, hovering demon in their midst.

He'd heard that there been no evacuation notice.

It would only cause panic, and it wasn't like anyone could escape anyway.

Succeed or fail, win or lose, soon everything he saw would be gone, replaced by a crate large enough to fill in a new inland sea. Indeed, he could well be the last person to ever see Townsville like this... or at all. It made him feel special. Privileged.

"Boomer?"

He turned slightly at the voice. He hadn't expected her to be off by herself.

"What?" He asked, sounding a little meaner than he would have preferred. Bubbles sat down next to him, dangled her legs off the edge of the wide bluff. It extended out about thirty or so feet, into a dirty, rocky incline, but they were effectively at the edge. Bubbles sat next to him, silent, for what seemed like hours.

"You scared?" She finally asked.

"Me? That's a laugh!" Boomer laughed at that, and at himself. "I should ask why you're not scared of me!"

"Why would I be scared of you?"

Boomer was taken aback. "I'm... I'm a Rowdyruff! I was made to kick Powerpuff butt!"

He didn't even mention the (near) week he'd kept her locked up under Mojo's Observatory, in solitary confinement. He was still expecting the Girls to attack, snarling and angry, despite Brick's repeated attempted explanations about the mental changes they'd supposedly undergone.

"Oh." Bubbles looked down at her dangling feet. "So why aren't you?"

"Che. Don't tempt me." Boomer let out a deep breath, and looked back at the horizon. In the distance, he could hear the faint 'booms' of Battleship shells exploding, far off, as the black sphere's deadly weapon intercepted them. "I'm just... not in the mood right now."

Bubbles licked her lips, nervously.

"I'm... I'm scared, too." She reached out, and in an act of incredible bravery, she took his hand. Boomer flinched a bit at the contact, but didn't resist beyond that.

"I'm... I'm not scared..." Boomer maintained, in a weakening voice. He looked around and behind him, making sure no one else was around. He cursed himself - after the times he'd talked to her, she probably suspected why already. "I just... don't want everything to fall apart... Why can't they be happy with each other?"

Bubbles say anything.

She didn't have to.

Just being there was enough.

"I feel... so helpless... so damn helpless and worthless and... I want to hold things together, but they stretch, and so I stretch with them, and and..."

She squeezed his hand, and he fell silent.

Eyes shut he squeezed back.

"Maybe..." He gulped. "I'm so afraid to die... again... I'm such a sissy yellow coward... the weak link in the chain that can't hold its own... in anything..."

They sat there, the two of them.

One ruff.

One puff.

Both afraid.

Behind them, the bells of a church rang. It was time to die.

* * *

Boomer and Bubbles were the last two to strap into the machine. It was a long cylinder that held the six children, and even with their small size, it was a fairly tight fit. It smelt of solder and burnt circuits, and the Professor took turns carefully attaching them to different electrodes that would monitor their energy levels, and their life signs. The cylinder itself would collect and focus their energies.

Lined up in two neat rows, the Professor kissed each girl on the forehead, the boys tried not to look, or even acknowledge it, and then with a hasty 'clang' the top was sealed. Like sardines in a can, like electrodes in a battery, they were ready. The air was stale and overly oxygenated. Slowly, they approached the countdown. It wasn't dark; there was a faint light to the cylinder, but no screen to see their foe. Their target.

Butch started to hum to himself, and soon started to sing with a sardonic smile.

"Half a league half a league,  
Half a league onward,  
All in the valley of Death,  
Rode the six hundred:  
Forward the Light Brigade,  
Charge for the guns' he said,  
Into the valley of Death,  
Rode the six hundred..."

"This is really helping set the mood, man!" Boomer grumbled.

Brick just scoffed.

The Girls just looked at them all like they were crazy.

Outside the 'Battery,' far to the north, as the hour advanced, the military moved. Planes and helicopters took flight, headed for Townsville, trying to get into weapon range. Flurries of long-range missiles were fired from bases and nearby mobile sites. Tanks rolled. Jeeps raced forward. And like corn before a scythe, they were cut down.

Butch seemed oddly cheerful. "Come on, Brick! Sing along. You know the words!"

The red Rowdyruff looked at his brother... and smiled. "You're one crazy bastard, you know that?"

"Forward the Light Brigade!'  
Was there a man dismay'd?  
Not tho' the soldier knew,  
Some one had blunder'd:  
Theirs not to make reply,  
Theirs not to reason why,  
Theirs but to do & die,  
Into the valley of Death,  
Rode the six hundred..."

Their signal came, and as one, the Powerpuffs and the Rowdyruffs focused their energies. The cylinder did not glow, it didn't heat... it barely even acknowledged their efforts. Outside, the long assembly way that was the weapon began to charge, racks and rows of capacitors, hundreds of them, hummed wildly, venting steam into the night sky. In seconds it would be ready. To the north, the advance, and the slaughter, continued.

Cannon to right of them,  
Cannon to left of them,  
Cannon in front of them,  
Volley'd & thunder'd;  
Storm'd at with shot & shell,  
Boldly they rode & well,  
Into the jaws of Death,  
Into the mouth of Hell,  
Rode the six hundred.

With a crack of thunder unheard since primordial times, with a sound that seemed to blanket and snuff out the world, guided by the precision and timing only a computer mind could calculate, the weapon fired. Red and green and blue, merged to white, crackling with power and righteous fury, from the formerly quiet bluff it exploded. The distance was crossed in a heartbeat, streaking over plain and field, hill and dale.

...And missing its target, the living core of the monster, by mere inches.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,  
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,  
Sabring the gunners there,  
Charging an army while,  
All the world wonder'd:  
Plunged in the battery-smoke,  
Right thro' the line they broke;  
Cossack & Russian,  
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,  
Shatter'd & sunder'd.  
Then they rode back, but not,  
Not the six hundred.

From the ink black surface of the sphere, countering, pushing back the opposing white that sought to destroy it, the creature focused its own titanic power. Slowly, it pushed the killing beam back, even as the computer corrected its course, adjusting its aim. Behind the bluff, behind the hope of Townsville and humanity, generators whirred and capacitors steamed, threatening to explode or melt. And still, the black sphere pushed the killing beam back, faster still, its own beam growing a terrible, brilliant white.

"Cannon to right of them,  
Cannon to left of them,  
Cannon behind them,  
Volley'd & thunder'd;  
Storm'd at with shot & shell,  
While horse & hero fell,  
They that had fought so well,  
Came thro' the jaws of Death,  
Back from the mouth of Hell,  
All that was left of them,  
Left of six hundred.

Inside the Battery, the heat grew intense. Nothing was said, no word uttered, no sound made. There was only concentration towards a single purpose. A single goal. A lone aim. Survive. Win. But amid the determination lurked fear, and doubt, and recrimination. Fear of failure. Fear of destiny. Fear of self. Fear of abandonment. Helplessness. Nothingness. In that space, at that moment, that instant in time, the heat unbearable, the pressure untenable, it came to be that there was reached... a climax.

There was a roar like a lion thousand fold...

The world trembled...

And, beyond doubt, there was light.

When can their glory fade?  
O the wild charge they made!  
All the world wonder'd.  
Honor the charge they made!  
Honor the Light Brigade,  
Noble six hundred!

* * *

Brick sat, and looked out over Townsville from his perch high over the city. He adjusted his cap and winced slightly at the pressure on his still hurting scalp. He was... content. Things had gone well, despite his lack of preparation and foresight. The immediate crisis was over - though long-term problems remained. The Powerpuff situation had resolved itself in nearly the fashion he predicted, fortunately, so that was one less thing to worry about. The Girls were... psychologically attached to him, and his brothers, thanks to the phenomenon of Stockholm Syndrome, and would remain so. They would be of great aid. Indeed, the future would be impossibly bleak without them.

Mojo would not understand that.

He had not seen what Brick had seen.

Nor could he.

And so, Brick looked out over his city. Indeed, like none before, he had conquered Townsville. He came and went; he did as he pleased, he was the master, and they were his slaves and dogs, though they did not even know it. They had tasted of the bittersweet forbidden fruit that was superhuman heroics, and had come to depend on it for survival. To them, he was a champion, though a dangerous one. And, perhaps, he was a champion, of sorts. Brick watched as Boomer flew through the sky, carefree, in a moment of pure enjoyment and serenity - so rare. He watched, as Butch looked out from a similar perch over the city, thinking very different thoughts. Down below, the tickertape parade continued. The Powerpuff Girls were back, and the Town had been saved, though very few knew by how close. At the center of the parade, just rounding the corner far below, Brick saw his three enemies, his three allies, his three sisters, waving to their adoring public.

No, the Girls would never oppose him again; they would not be his enemies.

They would be his bulwarks.

His reinforcements.

Mojo remained both father figure, and perpetual threat. Brick knew that Mojo actively desired the defeat and humiliation of his favored son, of his brilliant protégé, of his black sheep. Such a situation was, in reality, unavoidable. And thus, it would simply have to be worked with. Brick was... up to the challenge.

Looking out over the ocean, he remembered...

He had not seen it, no one had, really. But their power had somehow magnified at the last moment, as the creature's power was overwhelming them, slowly pushing them back and eating away at the layers of armor, formerly the Girl's prison cells, that provided meager protection. Their beam had crashed against the creature's, at that end, like a tsunami overtaking a ripple of tidewater. The creature had been pierced to the core, a hole blown through it as if its substance were nothing more than dust to be scattered. And, finally, as it had readied to explode, releasing its built up energy, the Professor's DYNAMO machine had taken it in its arms, crippled and dying, and warped off into space at top speed. The explosion, hundreds of thousands of miles from the surface of the earth, was supposed to have been spectacular.

Brick had not seen it.

He had been too busy thinking.

He knew, of course, what had happened at the last second that had saved them all. He knew many terrible things. Ignorance would have been far preferable, but one of them had to remember, and as leader, it fell on his shoulders. Looking far out to sea, Brick sat on his high perch - his throne.

And he waited.

(...Continued in "Gauntlet: Lies")


End file.
